Dream a little dream of me
by snapletonius
Summary: AU- (No reichenbach) Life for Sherlock and John is dreamlike, and they want to be partners in every sense of the word, But even the best dreams can turn to nightmares... The life and love of Sherlock and John, from the beginning, to the end.
1. Chapter 1

"Here,take my hand" John grabbed it, unthinking. After all the cuffs made doing anything else rather difficult. That said, it didn't stop the tingle John felt at his touch, not just because their hands were cold. "Of course I'd be thinking about that right now when we've just become fugitives"John muttered to himself, confident that Sherlock hadn't heard a word over the traffic and the constant noise of their footfalls as they ran. Even though his fist still throbbed from punching the director, and he was running from the police and his home, he was in pure bliss, Sherlock had never allowed this level of contact, and John couldn't seem to get enough.

Sherlock studied John carefully as he grasped his hand, waiting to see how he'd react to sudden contact. He'd had his suspicions that John felt something for him, more than just friends or flatmates. It intrigued him. Mostly because he had realised quite suddenly (after spending some time watching himself in a mirror) that he reacted the same way. The slight pupil enlargement and raised heart rate all pointed to one increasingly obvious conclusion: he was in love with John. Kind,caring, loyal,straight John. He'd heard John say it enough. These... Feelings were one sided. Only one way to know for sure. It was getting darker by the minute anyway and he could feel the tiredness oozing off of John. "Let's get a room for tonight, the search will start again in the morning."

John sighed with relief, he may have been in the army but he hadn't run that much in years. Sherlock never ceased to amaze him. The man had barely eaten a thing all day and yet he hadn't stopped running. Nor had he let go of the tight grip he had on Johns hand. It felt nice, safe evento have the detective so near to him. "Alright, I take it you already have a place in mind?" Sherlock smirked and continued at the same pace as before but now visibly leading. They ran for another kilometre or so until they reached a small hotel. It was perfect, secluded enough to be a hide out but near enough to society to give the safety of witnesses.

Trust Sherlock to pick a hotel that supplied kettles and mugs to each guest to go with the abundance of tea and coffee available in their room. Their room. Sherlock had hesitated when the clerk asked what they wanted, settling on a twin bed suite. As they walked (cuffs removed) to the lift there was a question on Johns lips, he could see the unrest in Sherlock's had made a shhh gesture with his hand before John had even opened his mouth. It was in silence that they entered their room.

Sherlock felt strange fluttering in his stomach and it unnerved him. It must have shown on his face because John was quick to try and grill him. Sherlock was not ready to try answer the questions he knew were coming quite yet. The room was nice, although the cleaner who had stripped his bed was having several affairs with staff members, Sherlock had no real objections to the room. Unless the fact that John's bed was not part of his own counted. He stripped off his coat, enjoying the secretive glances that John gave. He'd worn the purple shirt on purpose just because he knew John liked clambered onto the couch and shut his eyes, hands nestled under his chin. It was time to play the waiting game.

Sherlock had immediately gone to his mind palace when John was going to bring up his questions again, and John couldn't tell if it was on purpose or not. He was worn out in any case and ripped off his clothes in relative silence. The lights were off already and John collapsed into bed almost instantly. He stirred and awoke hours later to find a semi nude Sherlock Holmes in his bed facing him, green eyes hard at work, scrutinizing John's face.

"John?" he whispered, gulping down something that sounded like fear. It was written all over his face. He had his arms up, covering his chest, defending himself. "Mmm?" John grunted back, still drowsy. "John, I... I have realised that... Its about time I told you that I have feelings for you." J was stunned. For one that Sherlock had said anything at all but mainly because he felt the same way John did. Sherlock took the prolonged silence to mean rejection and blushed deeply, hoping that he hadn't just lost his one and only friend, and the man he loved. He made to leave Johns bed, feeling more empty than he had ever felt before. He didn't want to be alone. He needed his John.

"Sherlock, I feel the same way" John murmured, grabbing his pale wrist and pulling him back to lie with him. John scooted over to make more room for the tall man to lie down comfortably and smiled broadly at the look of relief and hope on Sherlock's face. John grabbed Sherlock's hand and nestled close to him until he had soft curls on his shoulder. Sherlock listened to the steady sound of John breathing and began to doze off.

For now, knowing that he was not alone was enough to kill the nightmares of losing him, and waking up next to John would definitely reassure him that everything would be okay. It always would be with John. Sherlock felt lips brush lightly off his head, and his whole body relaxed for the first time he could remember since his drug days. "Goodnight" John whispered and, with a contented sigh, they slept, wrapped in the safety of the others arms.


	2. Chapter 2

When Sherlock woke, he was both shocked and pleased to find John was still in bed with him. He could feel Johns arm under his back, hand drooped lazily in the crook of his elbow while the other was covering his own which were lying on johns chest. He hadn't had a single nightmare. Sherlock had almost forgotten how restoring sleep could be, usually if he tried he ended up in a worse state than before, dreams of a past life he'd rather forget plagued him every time he closed his eyes.

Sherlock hadn't realised that John smelled so good, a mixture of tea, biscuits and aftershave. He liked it. With his ear to Johns chest he heard the slight change in his breathing, he was waking up.  
The first thing John saw when he opened his eyes was a mop of dark curls nestled snugly into his shoulder, as if it had been made for this exact purpose. He stared for a while at the bare back his arm was under. It was pale and skinny, but still muscular enough to exude a strength. It was peppered with small scars. He sighed, not wanting to ruin the moment with his questions. He swallowed them instead, saving them for another time. "Morning Sherlock."

John began to move, getting up. He was surprised to find Sherlock looking hurt, and then covering with the indifference he was used to. "I'm just going to the bathroom, I'll be right back" he hesitated a little before planting a soft kiss on Sherlock's forehead. He smiled involuntarily at the bemused look on Sherlock's face, clearly they would be taking this very slow. John was surprisingly fine with that. Everything about this was need for the both of them. He'd waited this long and Sherlock was most definitely worth it.  
Sherlock pouted as John walked away. Was he deliberately teasing Sherlock with light kisses on his head instead of his lips? Something had to be done and Sherlock knew who to ask.

Molly, need advice reply asap ~SH

What do you need Sherlock? x Molly

Appropriate moment to kiss someone ~SH

In private! Surprise them when they least expect it, tell John I say hello ~ x Molly

For an idiot she really was quite perceptive. The thought made Sherlock smile. Judging by the noise of the shower he had approximately ten minutes to figure out a way to stop Moriarty and kiss John. The former would pose little trouble but John... Uncharted waters. The though gave him a little thrill.  
*****night fall*****  
It had been a hectic day but Moriarty was in custody now with enough proof to put him behind bars for life. And if he wasn't, well, Mycroft would see to that. They could go home again, one night away had been too many. Sherlock was euphoric and took the stairs to 221b two at a time.  
John marveled at him, waiting till they were home to ask him how he'd figured it out. Sherlock had calmly explained it to him for a while, after which John was awestruck.

"You are incredible Sherlock, how do you even do tha-" Sherlock cut him off, putting his hands in either side if John, effectively pinning John to the wall. That was when he kissed him.

Softly at first, waiting for a response. He pulled away, eyebrow raised inquisitively. He stared for a moment and move in again, kissing John harder this time, and after his initial shock John was incredibly responsive, pulling the lapels of Sherlock's coat, wanting him closer. Sherlock's brain was firing signals everywhere, saving this new information in the special John room of his mind palace.

The way John reacted to certain things (like Sherlock's hands on his neck and face) and the taste of his mouth (a fresh mint) and the way it felt to have him so close, finally. They stood for a long time like that, John pinned by Sherlock's arms and Sherlock glued to John by his coat. John was the one to break away.

Sherlock frowned. "Was that... Not good?" he seemed bashful now, insecure about his rash action. Maybe John hadn't liked that, it was plausible that he had not been teasing but been uncomfortable with this still. Sherlock cursed himself in his head."No! God no! That was... Definitely good. I just realised I'd forgotten to breathe" John reassured him, blushing slightly at the way he'd lost the ability to function the moment Sherlock had kissed him.

Evidently he had been wrong about taking things slow, then again this was Sherlock Holmes, of course he would be wrong. Sherlock had been genuinely concerned that John would find the experience un-enjoyable, not that it was Sherlock's first encounter, no. But before the gesture had lacked sentiment. The other's hadn't mattered to him. No one mattered except John.

Sherlock cleared his throat, confidence back and looked at the floor, hoping secretly that John would continue after he'd had enough time to breathe. It didn't seem necessary at all, at least not as necessary as kissing him. Right on cue John chuckled and pushed Sherlock onto the couch, threading thick curls through his fingers before pulling his face closer. "This was definitely a better way to end a case than blogging" John whispered before kissing both their nerves away.


	3. Chapter 3

They had fallen asleep much the same way as they had before, wrapped tightly in each others embrace. Sherlock had not slept for long. There was a lot to consider. What they had been doing up until now had been very much innocent, Sherlock could pick out children on the street who'd done much more but it had also been private. While on the case Sherlock had barely had time to breathe and he had only spoken to John to use him as a sounding board for his deductions. In reality Sherlock was, grudgingly, nervous.

All of this affection was well and good but he had seen John come home after a night with whoever it was he was dating at the time and it was worrying him. It was stupid he knew, but like his feelings for John he couldn't repress it. John had needs like everyone else and while Sherlock had experimented with sex in his youth this was different. He was unsure of himself. John made him nervous, he definitely had expectations of what that _should be_ like, it was one area where John would be the expert.

The faint morning light began to stream in, a pink blush permeating the room. The light allowed Sherlock to study John's face. Every little line made him smile. John looked so peaceful, not like he usually did when he slept. Sherlock had taken to watching his flatmate sleep when he was feeling restless. It was a relief to see him asleep and calm, there was no tossing and screaming. For once however studying his face was not helping Sherlock to think clearly.

He sighed and lay back against the headboard. Maybe they didn't have that type of relationship? What if John got bored and went elsewhere? Sherlock couldn't stand the thought of sharing him. God this was more complicated than all the cases Lestrade had called him for combined. Careful not to jostle John, Sherlock managed to leave John's room and pull on his robe. He perched on the armchair, figuring out his next move.

They clearly needed to talk about this, what John felt comfortable with others knowing. After all he had been the one who was always adamant that he was straight. Everyone just assumed Sherlock was incapable of affection at all. Sherlock didn't care what people thought or said, he'd happily be as affectionate with John in public as he was at home but John was not like him. He cared too much, set so much store in other people's opinion of them both. Sherlock didn't have any idea how John might react to the scoffs of Anderson or Donovan, the smirks of Mycroft.

Mycroft would know. He would know instantaneously when he saw them, in fact he probably already knew, although Sherlock had removed all the cameras a few days before Mycroft was apt at concealing them. Oh. He would also know that they hadn't progressed further than the soft, tame sort of nervous affection. That would make him intolerable. Few realised it but Mycroft possessed a charm that intoxicated all those he deigned to use it on. It meant that the few relationships he had advanced very quickly into acts of a rather unsavory nature, they were were best not spoken about in the presence of ladies anyway.

Mycroft would be ecstatic, he'd have a whole new range of artillery to fire about Sherlock not being a man, and how could he be so quaint. Ugh. He'd tell mummy on top of everything else and subject both him and John to at least two night of intense irritation. They were having this conversation before Mycroft showed up again because the one thing Sherlock would not be able to endure was the smug look on his face. This was going to be very uncomfortable.

John was woken by the clattering of pans in the kitchen and the smell of eggs cooking. It always surprised him when Sherlock cooked. He had it in his head that Sherlock wouldn't be able to do something so menial, it didn't seem to matter that he'd lived alone for the majority of his adult life. It just seemed like the type of skill he'd have no use for. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, John pulled on a jumper over his pyjamas and strolled into the kitchen, marveling at Sherlock as he bent over to grab the milk.

The arch of his back was incredibly graceful and further down... that robe left little to the imagination. John blushed deeply and sat down, heat radiating from his entire being but specifically towards his lower half. "Morning John" Sherlock called. Even the way he said John... "Jawn" It was completely irresistible John pinched himself and shook his head. Not appropriate thoughts for the breakfast table, especially not about Sherlock. John wasn't even sure if Sherlock was still a virgin or not. "Morning." Sherlock whirled around and in moments there was a plate of steaming food on either side of the table, swiftly followed by tea.

John picked up the mug gratefully and sipped it, the hot liquid cooling him down considerably. Sherlock took this as the moment to plunge right in to conversation about their relationship. "John, do you consider us to be a couple? In the conventional sense. By that I mean.. I mean usually from what I've seen in your previous encounters there's more... involved than what we've.. and I'm just wondering if that's something you wanted? Or if you had even thought about it? Also on the same topic, do you think this" he gestured between them "should be a public relationship? I have no qualms about it but if you feel uncomfortable I should warn you that Mycroft will certainly be aware of us regardless of your stance on the matter." He poured the words out in a stream so fast it was almost impossible for John to keep up. But he got the gist of it and nearly choked on his tea. He was still spluttering while Sherlock sat, obviously waiting for a response. He was not as embarrassed by the conversation as he had imagined himself being. In fact he was quite proud at how smoothly it had gone.

"I... would definitely consider us to be a couple Sherlock, but I honestly thought, wrongly clearly, that you'd be the one who wanted us to be only as _involved_ as we have been. I mean, I wasn't even sure if you had ever... with anyone! As for the public thing... everybody already assumes we're a couple, I see no point in denying it now that we are one and it'd be nice to go places with you that didn't contain corpses or blood spatters." Sherlock looked a little bemused at that. "Yes, everybody assumes that I was always prudish or some other such rubbish. I'm not as innocent as you think" With that and a smirk Sherlock left, satisfied that when the time arose they would be on the same page.

Sherlock had barely finished getting dressed when the phone rang. It was Lestrade. "JOHN! We have a case!" Sherlock practically jumped out of his seat. John tried to calm him down but it was rather half hearted. The gleam of joy in Sherlock's eye was a welcome sight and it made his whole face light up. He became increasingly impatient as John began dressing at an average pace. Sherlock was raring to go. John felt that familiar burst of exhilaration as he clambered into a taxi outside baker street. Sherlock was not far behind him and much to John's surprise, rested his hand on John's thigh. John entwined their hands and pecked Sherlock on the cheek, enjoying the light pink colour his neck turned. Sherlock turned his head so they were face to face and smirked "No half measures John" and he pulled him in for a kiss. It was different this time around, more passionate, it was the type of kiss that eluded to something much more devious. Neither of them noticed the car pulling to a halt at the police tape until a couple of minutes had passed and there was a knock on through window. Sherlock pulled away, sighing dramatically. John rolled his eyes as they got out of the taxi.

He threw some money at the driver before acknowledging that anyone else was present. Donovan's jaw was on through floor next to Anderson's. Greg on the other hand just chuckled to himself before turning to his colleagues and demanding that they pay him ten pounds. "That was remarkable! If I'd known that would silence Anderson and Donovan I would have probably done it before!" Sherlock quipped as they hurried into the scene.  
"Simple, an idiot could figure this out! Look at the copper stain there, The rest of her body is immaculately groomed all bar that one stain. Add to that the depth and angle of the wounds and the cord markings on her wrists . They didn't force entry and were rather sloppy, it wasn't premeditated, they used the tools at hand. The electrician who came by yesterday. You can see the bill he left on the table by the door. It must be excruciatingly difficult to function with brains as dim as yours sometimes, this is obvious!"

Lestrade was unsurprised. He'd worked with Sherlock long enough to appreciate his genius and to know that these were not insults. "Alright we'll send a team to arrest him." John had been leaning against the door the whole time, watching. He was prepared when Sherlock spun around quickly and rushed out, coat swirling behind him. "Oh and Lestrade, do tell my brother that we say hello." That was one John had not been expecting. He had to run after Sherlock into the street and only managed to get his breath back when they sat down in the taxi.

"How on earth did you know that?!" John had puzzled over it for a while but nothing about Greg had seemed different. "He smelled like Mycroft, it was all over him, meaning not only did he stay the night last night but he was having a rather interesting shower before the case interrupted them"Sherlock was very serious, but when John caught his eye they both laughed. The taxi pulled up outside Angelo's.

"Wha-" John was mildly confused about why they were here exactly. "As the conventional couple we are, it's socially acceptable for us to go out for a meal together, a date?" It was more of a question than a statement. John smiled one of his crooked smiles that made Sherlock's brain meltdown. Even in that hideous jumper John was dashing. "It is, I'd love to go on a date with you Sherlock" They both blushed a small bit as Sherlock hopped out of the car and held out his hand. "Shall we?"

**A/N I told you I would make it up to you for not posting recently! Thanks for following it means a lot, R&R, if there's anything you'd like to see happen in the story just say so, **  
**what about more Mystrade or dinner with mummy? How do you feel about the possibility of a smut chapter after this? Or is it too soon? Opinions? Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

Angelo's was surprisingly empty. Though the dinner rush had yet to begin it was still unusually deserted. John eyed Sherlock who looked away innocently; he must have planned it this way. John's stomach fluttered at the effort Sherlock had made to ensure his comfort. Underneath the cold exterior Sherlock was more thoughtful than the majority of the population. The majority of the population wouldn't have slipped their coat around my shoulders during a particularly cold crime scene even though it was snowing and they were cold too. They sat down at the table by the window, the same one they had sat at on that first case together. It had become their booth.

Angelo arrived in moments and smiled at them, winking at John, "What can I get you guys?" John ordered some soup or other while Sherlock just nodded at him. Angelo grinned knowingly and sidled out, leaving them virtually alone. Sherlock just stared at John for a minute, his mind racing. The unbroken gaze made John melt, he began to forget that they were in public at all and stifled a small moan, which he promptly blushed at. He hadn't realised he could make a noise like that. Sherlock's eyebrows had risen minutely in response but he hadn't said anything. He didn't need to. He intensified his gaze and reached across the table, caressing John's hand. John shivered at his touch. He was not one to be bested quite so easily. Beneath the table he began to rub his foot against Sherlock's, slowly moving higher and higher until he was rubbing his thigh. Sherlock smirked. They didn't even need to talk, they knew one another well enough that the regular first date interrogation was unnecessary. No, the talking they would be doing would probably be much more serious than that and for now both were content to maintain this playful silence.

The arrival of food put a stop to that as John's stomach began to rumble. Sherlock released his hand and John dug in, burning his mouth slightly on the soup. It earned him a slight click of the tongue from Sherlock. "Yeah, yeah… I'm an idiot, play a different tune will you" John joked, rolling his eyes. Sherlock chuckled, the silky baritone resounding through them both. "Hasty: maybe, idiot: never." There it was again. That irritating stomach flip. Every time Sherlock said something even bordering on kind it happened. The soft tone Sherlock took when he said it made John's heart flutter in his chest, he could feel the nervous energy rolling off the taller man in waves. It was quite frankly adorable the way he felt so unsure of whether the things he said would cause an adverse reaction. He was vulnerable and that alone told John more than anything he could have said. "Why now?" John had been pondering for a little while, but when it came to the silver eyed genius that sat across from him he was at a loss. "I was afraid. That you weren't feeling the same and one wrong move would ruin everything. You might not realise it John but you have become one of the most important aspects of my life and I didn't want to scare you away." John was shocked at his candor. "You were right of course, I needed time to come to grips with all of it, I needed that. But thank you." Sherlock's brow furrowed. "For what, John?" John smiled. "For being braver than me. I never would have worked up the courage to act on anything; I honestly had no idea you even considered _us_ to be an option."

Sherlock shook his head, smirking. "Oh John, I told you; you see but you don't observe. Every time you came into the room I wondered if you would hear my heart beating. At least my worry was warranted, I didn't have a string of women hanging off my arm." John had a sudden realisation. "The violin! I used to come home from dates and listen to you play from the stairs. That was all... Because of me?" The sad nod made his whole body hurt. "I, I had no idea! Jesus Sherlock I was only going out with them to distract myself from thinking of you!" Sherlock's eyes lit up at that and his heart wrenching smile was nearly too much for John to bear. He leaned over the table, pushing his bowl to the side and kissed Sherlock, flicking his tongue out, exploring his lower lip. Sherlock growled and John continued, putting slight pressure on the line of Sherlock's lips, cajoling them apart for his tongue to explore. Their tongues collided with slow, greedy movements. God he was delicious.

Sherlock had eaten almost nothing all day, his mouth still tasted buttery from this morning's toast. It had gotten unbearably hot and John was fighting the urge to rip off his jumper and Sherlock's jacket. Sherlock clearly sensed this as he pulled away slightly and whispered into the space between them, his voice low and filled with a new note. "We should go, it'd be a bit not good to continue here" his eyes were closed as he said this. The two of them were breathing heavily as they hailed a taxi. They avoided each other's gaze until they were in the safety of their flat. Sherlock pushed John back against the door as soon as he closed it, crushing their lips together. John swapped their positions and moved his mouth further down, kissing his jaw, moving up to his cheekbones and nibbling his ear, relishing the soft gasps of pleasure and surprise. He held Sherlock at his mercy, and he loved it. He moved lower still, kissing his neck. Sherlock writhed against him and John continued. He wanted to mark Sherlock as his own and began to suck lazily at the tender flesh of his collar bone, stroking painfully slow circles on his stomach that were getting progressively lower. "J-John" Sherlock panted and John led him to his room, not even looking where he was going. He lowered the detective onto his bed, noting the crisp black sheets. It was very Sherlock.

John straddled Sherlock, not unaware of the growing tents between them. He wanted this to be something Sherlock would remember, he would make him want to retain every second of this in his mind palace. Still entwined John began to unbutton Sherlock's shirt, his fingers lingering on the alabaster skin of his torso. He pulled it back over Sherlock's shoulders and tossed it to the side. He pushed him back until Sherlock's legs just barely touched the floor. He broke the kiss off and Sherlock opened his eyes, questioning the removal. John held his gaze as he slithered down, opening Sherlock's belt and sliding his trousers off. Sherlock's pupils almost eclipsed the grey of his iris, they both knew that was a first. It was exhilarating. John began to remove his own clothes and soon they were both entirely exposed. John wanted this to be special, an act of love rather than lust. He wanted Sherlock to know that he treasured every part of him, even the damaged ones. With that in mind he rolled Sherlock on his side and lay carefully behind him, wrapping his arms around his chest. His mouth found what it was looking for and he began to kiss every tiny scar that covered his back. Sherlock tensed at first but quickly gave in to the tender movement.

John rolled him back onto his back and rekindled his assault on his neck, hands wandering south. A gasp from Sherlock proved they'd found their mark. John began to stroke up and down, Sherlock arching beneath him. The mere sight of Sherlock like that, toned body slick with sweat, putty in his hands, very nearly pushed John over the edge and he hadn't even been touched. Sherlock had noticed this and began his own explorations, his hands roaming over muscled chest and arms. He flicked tentatively at one of John's nipples and the soft hiss he got in response encouraged him. He began to play with each one in turn while John groaned above him. John's hand continued to move at pace, Sherlock knew he would not hold out much longer. He raised himself into a sitting position and pushed John into his lap. Sherlock gave a small roll of his hips, closing the gap between them, rubbing their hard flesh together.

John's hands clenched his curls and he returned his mouth to Sherlock's with new vigour. John started thrusting in time with Sherlock and soon they were both shuddering in anticipation. John moved his hands around and stroked Sherlock, it was only a matter of when he came and John had decided that he would hear his name from Sherlock when he did. Picking up the pace he felt Sherlock harden beneath him and moved his mouth to Sherlock's neck. He bit the skin covering his Adam's apple just as Sherlock began to come. "John!" It was strangled but the cry sent John over the edge too. He could feel the release and his eyes rolled back as they collapsed against each other, moaning slightly. John gave Sherlock a sly smile as he lay panting on the bed.

John lifted himself up until Sherlock could see his torso and rubbed his fingers across it, gathering what Sherlock had left behind. With a small grin he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. Sherlock's eyes were wide. He lay back down, teasing a hand through Sherlock's hair. They were both sticky with sweat and other things. John got up and strolled towards the ensuite, turning on the shower. He gave Sherlock the most innocent look he could muster when he popped his head out through the door. "You know what would make this shower much more fun?" Sherlock was already halfway across the room. He swept John into his arms. They could shower properly later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Lestrade**  
Greg Lestrade was not a secretive man. He was perfectly comfortable with being open about almost every part of his life. He liked, however, to be given the option to be open if he chose. Sherlock Holmes had never made that easy, there was no option with him because he knew everything about you instantly. Which is great for a crime scene, but not so good for live people with secrets and problems. Mycroft Holmes was neither a secret nor a problem, he was just new, exciting and confusing all at once.

Having Sherlock pretty much announce that they were in a relationship infront of his colleagues was more surprising than anything else. Thankfully, most of his coworkers were too dim to figure that out. They assumed the younger Holmes had been referring to a meeting between them, not one would have guessed that he was in a relationship with the man.

Most people would be shocked to find out, after all Greg had an ex-wife under his belt. Greg himself had been shocked, but Mycroft Holmes was a charming man and he knew how to get what he wanted. He was considerate and generous and Greg enjoyed spending time with him. They made a good team although Mycroft was always a step ahead. Greg's thoughts wandered back to the shower that had been interrupted this morning. They'd just have to make up for it later on. Greg drove to Mycroft's estate.

He was still in awe of the extravagant buildings and grounds. There were peacocks strolling by the fountains for crying out loud. It suited Mycroft though, everything about him screamed upper class. It seemed only appropriate that he lived in a manor that was probably worth more than an entire street in London.

After the divorce Greg was left a good portion of their money and possessions but he had to concede the house. When Mycroft had realised that he was living in a small flat, he had essentially moved him into his house within the hour. Greg didn't remember being given a choice in the matter but he was glad to be there. It was good to be able to see him whenever he was around and to say goodbye before either of them left. Plus Greg enjoyed being able to contribute something to his life.

Granted it was just food, but that was one of the few things he could do for Mycroft to thank him for everything. It was nice to see him eating something home made, and it was all reduced fat to help with his diet. Pulling up to the door it was clear that Mycroft wasn't home yet. Greg wandered to the kitchen and started dinner, Italian food was a favourite of theirs. He was just grabbing some plates when he heard the door open and the distinctive clack of Mycroft's umbrella on the hardwood floor.

Mycroft made a beeline for the kitchen straight away, the smell of food had hit him the moment he had stepped in the door. Yet another perk of Gregory's presence were the exquisite meals he prepared whenever he was at home. Mycroft hadn't eaten so well outside of a five star establishment and the mere image of Gregory cooking was rather erotic. He pushed open the door, allowing himself to bask in the warm glow that greeted him for a moment. Greg laid the table and steered Mycroft to it, pushing him into a chair. The Holmes brothers had a habitual disregard for the necessity of food and while Mycroft was a very appreciative eater, he often had to neglect himself while work called, which was a regular occurrence. "Gregory, I am perfectly capable of seating myself" he announced with only a hint of sarcasm. The whole point of the excersise had been to get him to eat with as little fuss as possible. Lestrade chuckled a bit and sat opposite. "I'm sure you can, but judging by the noise your stomach is making you didn't eat very much, if at all today. So, shut up and eat the meal, then you can talk all you want, but for now, eat." Mycroft secretly loved it when Gregory ordered him around like that. He was so used to being in control that Gregory's domineering nature was very appealing.

By the time the meal was over Mycroft was feeling much better ( though he hadn't noticed he was feeling bad) and Greg's body hummed with an aura of contentment. "Thank you Gregory, that was impeccable" Greg knew he was being sincere, the brief relationship they had was already teaching him to spot lies at face value. "It's always a pleasure to cook for someone who enjoys it as much as you do" Lestrade smirked to himself and put his hand on Mycroft's. "Sherlock asked me to say hello to you from him and John." Mycroft's lips curled slightly upwards "I wonder how you offended him, he's kept very quiet about our relationship until now." Greg was shocked. "Oh come now Gregory, he solves the unsolvable for a living, tell me how you expected him to miss this?" Of course he knew. Greg thought back to the times he had caught the younger Holmes looking at him with a grimace on his face. Clearly Sherlock had gotten more information about the nature of their relationship than he had wanted. It made Greg smile, serves the git right for looking.

"Now, if you're quite finished Gregory, I do believe I promised to make you regret leaving this morning. Come along" Mycroft had pulled the base of his umbrella away, revealing it's true nature. It was a beautiful, deliciously painful, mahogany cane. Greg shivered at the sight of it. "Now Gregory, you are going to like this" Mycroft purred and God, it was all Greg could do not to jump him right there in the kitchen but the wait would be worth it. Admittedly, sitting down would be an issue for the next few days. Mycroft Holmes loved Greg's dominant side, but tonight he was going to submit, and love every minute of it.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock sighed loudly, throwing his phone across the room, causing John to open an eyelid slowly. "I'm not getting that back for you later" John mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow against his face. Sherlock looked at John for a second, giving him the we-both-know-that's-not-true face before falling back against him. "Not a case then?" John asked hopefully. He was knackered and quite frankly loathe to leave the new found comfort of Sherlock's bed. In a contrast to everywhere else the Sherlock-hurricane tore through his bedroom was immaculate, if a tad dark. John quite liked the colours, dark greys and black accented with purple and navy. It was almost like Sherlock wore his room around everyday.

"Mycroft." Sherlock said simply, giving no further explanations because his phone buzzed against the hardwood floor. He looked at John imploringly,grey eyes wide. John rolled his eyes as he crawled out of bed to get it. Sherlock smirked to himself behind John's back. John shivered and tucked himself back under the duvet as Sherlock began to frown. "What?" Sherlock glowered and his fingers tapped across the screen deftly, years of violin making them long and supple. "My dear brother has just informed me that mummy is in London." Sherlock said in a tone laced heavily with sarcasm. "First of all mummy? And second of all why is that an issue?" The phone buzzed again. Sherlock looked at it before tensing minutely against John. "Seriously? Give me your phone. Now." John commanded and Sherlock handed it over, silent now, hands steepled beneath his chin.

Mummy's here. -MH

Invited by yourself or rather Anthea I presume -SH

In anycase we'll be having dinner at the estate tomorrow -MH

Enjoy- SH

We both know I mean you and I, don't be so childish brother -MH

And I chose to ignore it, I'd assume even you can fathom why that is -SH

Mummy has requested Greg and John's presence also. -MH

She is sending a car to collect you this evening. You'll be here for the weekend. -MH

"Oh" John was frowning now. They had barely begun to get used to expressing the feelings that had grown between them to each other. Now he was going to have to meet Sherlock's mother? "Bloody hell" John murmured, fully alert now. He sat up and leaned back against the headboard, waiting for Sherlock to tell him the plan. There was always a plan.

It was some time before Sherlock came to, long enough for John to shower, make breakfast and return. "The car will be here at three and much though I wish we could avoid it I'm afraid that I at the very least have to go." Sherlock stared out at the door and John looked at him carefully in his peripheral vision. The tension in his shoulders had increased and John could make out a light sheen of sweat dappled across his forehead. He moved a bit closer, putting what he hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Not letting you go somewhere that dangerous alone. Three Holmes's under one roof? I'd be surprised if the place was still standing after the starter" he smiled and patted Sherlock's back softly, hoping to express that it was okay, even though inside he was having a tough time figuring out what he was going to do himself.

"You won't enjoy yourself John, I'm warning you now while there's still time to administer a mild dose of anthrax" John shook his head and smiled. "No anthrax. We'll survive, plus a whole weekend away might be nice for a change, no fingers in the jam, no explosions,no potentially deadly fungi on the table" Sherlock smiled a bit at that. It would be a bit more bearable with John at his side. "There's a suitcase in the bottom of the wardrobe, that is if you plan on packing clothes." it sounded ridiculously suggestive, then again, most things that came out of Sherlock's mouth did. John thrust a piece of toast into Sherlock's hands and then opened the wardrobe.

Sure enough, underneath the forest of suits lay a black suitcase. John had just pulled it out and Sherlock was behind him. "Mycroft's doing. He says it's mostly for you as the next shipment of my suits are at the estate anyway, quote 'No refusals or gratitude. It's really a gift for the rest of us.'" The case was contained two suits, what felt like a cashmere jumper and an assortment of hygiene products. Even John had to admit the suits were stunning, one a jet black with an emerald shirt,the other a dark navy with a white shirt. "Care to try them on?" Sherlock asked him, a hint of curiosity in his voice. John sighed and began to pull on the black suit. Sherlock watched him in silence, cataloging data and storing information.

"Green suits you" he whispered as John stood in front of the mirror. Mycroft certainly knew his stuff about suits. Of course he did, he bought Sherlock's suits and those were pure perfection in an incredibly figure hugging shirt. "You think so?" John met Sherlock's eyes in the reflection, genuinely surprised. Sherlock often told him how much he disliked John's clothes, especially recently (mainly because he was still in them) but it was definitely the first time he had admired an item if John's wardrobe. Sherlock stared at him. The black jacket enhanced John's wide shoulders and the trousers left little to the imagination in the back but were decidedly more reserved in the front. "Take the jacket off, just to be 100% positive" John shrugged the jacket off and waited for the verdict. Yes, the shirt tightened around John's biceps and again at his chest and abdomen, the most muscled areas of his body. The green set off the specks of emerald in his eyes and accentuated his tanned complexion. Sherlock caught himself wondering if John had looked this good in army camouflage. Probably was the conclusion. "Brilliant. Fantastic. Perfect"

John smiled and picked up the jacket, turning to face Sherlock. Those were their compliments, the only ones Sherlock really knew to use and the only John had ever bestowed upon him. He was blushing. "Thanks, Right.. Uh.. Well you should get dressed too, it's almost two, if you want to finish up whatever the experiment on the table is before we go, don't want Mrs Hudson to try clear it away again." The last time she'd done that... There had very nearly been an epidemic. Sherlock nodded curtly, going to the bathroom with a bundle of clothes in his arms. John cleaned up while he was in the shower, wiping crumbs off the sheets and washing dishes.

By the time he was finished Sherlock had slunk back in and cleared away his experiment. He was wearing the shirt. The purple one. John knew it was on purpose. "I know what your doing" he called from the sink, picturing the face of feigned innocence Sherlock would have on. "That's my favourite shirt of yours and you know it" he twirled around to find the detective millimeters from him. "I do know that yes. Just showing my... appreciation for your cooperation." Sherlock leaned in closer, gently pressing John back against the counter, he had been researching, apparently this was a common occurance in most other peoples relationships.

Their lips had barely touched when there was a light knock on the door. John sighed into Sherlock's mouth before pulling back. "We should go, don't want to make a bad first impression." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and dragged him closer. "We'll continue in the car" he whispered, picking up the suitcase. Sherlock smirked and opened the door, throwing his coat on as they ran down the stairs side by side. The car was evidently expensive ti Sherlock, the bullet proof glass seemed a tad excessive, but then again this was Mummy they were talking about. John didn't notice it of course, he clambered straight in and when Sherlock didn't follow instantly he reached out and grabbed Sherlock's scarf, effectively forcing him into the car.

Admittedly he had been contemplating dashing off. The doors locked when they were closed. She knew him too well. John's mouth had found his neck and in seconds he had forgotten where they were going. Continuing apparently meant a had enough sense to move their suits out of the firing line anyway. "Thank God for sound proofing" John murmured into Sherlock's ear, grinning widely as he wriggled back into his suit, straining around the seatbelt he had managed to wear the entire time. He really was fascinating. Not only with the surprising flexibility but he had in fact noticed the opulence of the vehicle. Always a surprise. "Well if you could stay quiet that would be entirely unnecessary" John feigned an offended expression "I recall hearing the name John being shouted a few times? And you call me loud" Sherlock rolled his eyes and tied his scarf around his neck. "It's exactly 37.5 minutes until we arrive."

The slow panic had returned. What if she disapproved of John? True she had always doted on him but would that stretch to another, especially with the complex all mothers had about losing their sons, but she wasn't all mothers and John wasn't stealing him away, there was a possibility that rule only applied to other women taking sons from their mothers. "Stop thinking about whatever it is. I can feel you getting agitated you know. It'll be fine, talk me through it at least, maybe a sounding board will help" John soothed him, wishing he could just offer a cup of tea. Tea solved everything.

"What if she disapproves? Of you, of us, even of me? Though that last one is completely illogical. There has to be some way I can guarantee that she likes you, not that women have trouble liking you but this is different. You have fantastic posture which is good because she can't stand slouching. What if she thinks you're not intelligent enough for me, or too unsuccessful? But you'll be compared to Greg which is great because he cannot hope to compete but still there are too many variables!" John sat in stunned silence as the monologue played itself out into dark streams of muttering. "Sherlock, calm down. It's not like it's the end of the world, even if she hates me, which I hope she doesn't but if she does, I've survived Mycroft. He's not exactly my biggest fan but it hasn't changed anything between you and I, so don't think for a minute that I'll let whatever comes next change us either. Yours. No one else matters to be honest." Sherlock processed this, scrutinizing John's face for tells of deception, there were none. He took a deep breath and nodded, curls falling softly against his forehead.

"Okay then. When you said estate you were really serious? Jesus..." John breathed, mouth open at the splendour that was the Holmes estate. "Peacocks? You can't seriously think that I'd believe you grew up here? It's a palace for petes sake!" John guffawed as the car began the descent of the avenue. Lined with trees, the avenue provided both security and decoration, it also added to the mysterious air about the place. Through the gaps in the trees you could just make out a fountain here, an ornate pillar there. Sir Faowler Holmes had done a splendid job. That was what all the gentry and other nobility said when they appeared for a ball or banquet when Sherlock was younger. How he despised the place. It's one redeeming feature was in the back, hidden away from everyone. Even Mycroft was yet to discover where on earth Sherlock used to hide as a youth. Perhaps he would show John later if things became unbearable.

"It's an 18th century medieval manor actually. And yes both Mycroft and myself spent the first paltry years of our youth here. It was hateful." John nodded, although Sherlock wasn't sure if he quite understood. "Seems more like a museum than a home, kind of...cold,strange, foreign almost. It's a wonder you turned out as well as you did living there as a baby" John remarked absently as his gaze fixed upon the grey building. "Yes my nanny did a fine job of raising me, until she became too incompetent. I was not a child for long at all, she was necessary for three years only and then I simply took care of myself, Mycroft was away at school, Mummy doing business and Father... Also doing business of a sort." Sherlock's voice dripped with malice for his father but John chose not o dwell on it. Besides which they had arrived and a similar car pulled up next to theirs.

Climbing out of through car, John waved to Greg who looked a bit pissed off. "Kidnapped from work?" John asked sympathetically. "In front of three of my superiors to boot, I had no idea what was going on until about ten minutes ago when er.." he looked into the car at the woman sitting there, tapping away on her phone. "Anthea today I think" she chirped, not looking up but getting out and walking to the door. "right until Anthea handed me a tie and explained it. Thank God you're here at least, maybe we can survive this unscathed eh?" John laughed and Greg joined in, these were Holmes'. Not going to happen.

Sherlock glared and took John's sleeve, gesturing towards the door. "They're aware of our arrival, knowing mummy their in the drawing room." John mouthed drawing room to Greg who just nodded. He had lived in the place for over a month now and still the upper classness of it all seemed ridiculous. "Lead on then Sherlock" and with that Sherlock took off at the same superhuman pace he always did, leaving Greg and John to jog along on his coat tails. "Probably a good time to mention that Mycroft calls me by my full name" Greg blushed a bit and John just smiled "I figured he would, Greg is just not his style" Sherlock had paused at the front door and held it open for them, closing it deftly after them. The hall was dark reds and mahogany, filled with statues and portraits that were lavishly expensive. John could tell that this was unsurprising to Greg from the first second. "So how long have you been living here?" Sherlock smirked at John, pleased at the deduction. John's stomach always did somersaults at that little smile of approval. "Little over two months now yeah, it's been... Well it's been different." they were making there way slowly towards the twin staircase that wound elegantly above their heads.

Almost in unison Greg and John gulped, the prospect of meeting mummy Holmes was much more terrifying than it had seemed earlier. Sherlock noticed John straighten his shoulders just an inch, increasing his height and displaying his posture as they drew up to the door.

He clasped John's hand in his own as a woman's voice wafted out to them. "Do come in."

**A/N Hey guys, just like to say thanks for all the great feedback! Really does spur me on and hence, the fast update! In all honesty I've been on internet lockdown so that's why this is so long... sorry that nothing hapens, setting up to tell a little tale from Sherlock's past ;) If there's anything you'd like to see happening, you know where to find me -S**


	7. Chapter 7

It was John in the end, who endeavoured to open the door to the drawing room. He stood back, allowing the other two men to enter before closing the door with a quiet click behind them. Mycroft was lounging in an armchair facing a large fire place while Mummy Holmes was in a chair by the window, her grey hair sitting in a sleek bun on her head. Mycroft addressed the party first.

"Hello John, Gregory." he merely smirked at Sherlock and gestured to the sofas and chairs that littered the room. John chose to sit close to the door, a seat Sherlock was glad to remain near and in that mindset he flopped down on the sofa next to John, throwing his coat behind him. "Hello mummy. You've been keeping well I see. How were the Maldives, thoroughly unsatisfactory I take it." Sherlock did not ask any questions, he simply stated what he saw to be true, and her holiday had been awful. The hotel staff had been entirely incompetent and she had hated every minute of it. "Indeed. How are you Sherlock, I trust you've occupied your time with more" a quick flutter at John "reputable endeavours than when I saw you last?" Sherlock shrugged. "On occasion."

John and Greg sat staring at each other through the brief exchange, fascinated by the dynamic the family had. It was quite unsurprising that Mycroft and Sherlock were the way they were if this was anything to go by. Family gatherings could not have been jovial affairs. Mummy- as all parties in the room called her for the guests did not know her name, glided to a throne like chair, heading the group. From her perch she could survey everyone. "You must be Gregory, I have heard an awful lot about you from Mycroft, you're the only worthwhile thing he has to talk about, I'm glad get to meet you, usually he would make some excuse to avoid this" she laughed softly at Greg's incredulous look at Mycroft who stared intently at his phone. John and Sherlock shared a grin at his expense. "Yes hello, and you are?" Greg held out his hand and she shook it politely. "Please, call me mummy, makes things much simpler." Greg smiled and sat back down, hoping to draw her eyes to John who sat quietly, praying that he was inconspicuous.

"And you, you must be John Watson. I'm very pleased to meet you I must say! Mycroft has always had someone on his sleeve, although none as handsome as Gregory, but you my dear are the first person with my Sherlock. To think he has kept you from me! You must be something special, Sherlock is very guarded, in fact for years I thought that he was just not geared towards having relationships at all!" It was at that point that Sherlock cleared his throat loudly, a hint of a blush had spread itself across his got up and shook her hand warmly, smiling broadly. "I'm nothing special" he laughed, glancing back at Sherlock and grinning wider. "I can't take credit, we became friends thanks to him and after that well... Equally responsible." Mummy winked almost imperceptibly at him as he sat back down and Sherlock took his hand, stroking his thumb across the knuckles lightly. That was a thank you if John had ever gotten one. He knew his Sherlock struggled with it sometimes. Every little gesture filled him with happiness.

"So, dinner? There are sixty five restaurants in the vicinity that can be secured in moments" Greg looked at Mycroft and shook his head "No no your mother should get a home cooked meal. I'll go now, John? Any chance of a hand?" John nodded and smiled wryly at Sherlock before jumping to his feet and leaving, Greg on his tails.

"So. When, exactly, did you plan on telling me firstly that you had a friend who was willing to class themselves as such, and secondly that you two had entered a romantic relationship? Before you try and reproach me for earlier, he is your first relationship as far as I am concerned. That brief spat with that brute Sebastian in college was part of my reasoning that you would never be in a relationship, not after that night." Mycroft's face had gone stony at the first mention of Sebastian. The man had used Sherlock, at a time when he was confused and easily lead. Well, more easily. He had not learned how to control his feelings and had fallen under Sebastian's sadistic wing.

"Never would have been my plan on both fronts, thank you Mycroft for that by the way, and I myself would not ever consider Seb to be anything more than a grievous mistake that I will never and have never made again. I was 16, and college is a breeding ground for that sort. I learned my lesson, no one until John." He said it lovingly,as if just the name would express all his feelings for the man. To them it did, the drawled "John" could show every word he could never hope to express to John, and it was sometimes better than their compliments at expressing things."He has fantastic posture, ex-military?" and so they launched into the most amiable conversation they had ever had as a family, discussing the two men's boyfriends. Father would have turned over in his grave Mycroft thought to himself.  
In the kitchen John was sitting on a polished counter while Greg cooked. "I don't know what I was expecting... Certainly more hissing and glaring that's for sure. And Sherlock was worried she wouldn't like me." John scoffed, eating some jam off a spoon. "Yeah, it's gone surprisingly well... Still time. Can't get over it though, I'm the most handsome..." Greg struggled to find a word that didn't sound ridiculous to describe what he was to Mycroft. "Lover, Boyfriend, Live in mistress?" John offered, narrowly dodging the spoon Greg threw at him. "Very funny, partner" He smirked "Mycroft's ever had, power attracts some very attractive people and Mycroft is incredibly powerful... Seems a bit odd that average is the best he can do" John shrugged, returning the jam to it's rightful spot. "I'm not Sherlock's first you know. Mhmm. I hear him, sometimes,  
In the brief times he does sleep, crying out the name Seb. It's usually followed by some things I'll never repeat. In one sense I am his first, in the respect that this Seb person was evil. I can't tell you what he did Greg but... From what I can tell he was evil."John said it all quietly, in a tone that those who didn't know him would mistake for calm. Greg knew fury when he saw it and it took a lot to make John look that way. Greg didn't doubt that given the opportunity John would not hesitate to kill that man, slowly and painfully to boot. He had never known John to hate without reason to."I don't know exactly what happened obviously but, if you heard him. I won't ask him about it anyway, none of my business." John had the ghost of a smile on his face as he said that and Lestrade continued stirring. "I'd ignore this Sebastian myself, If he was bad news, he doesn't deserve to be recognized. Now strain that would you?"  
The dining room was just as extravagant as the rest of the house and according to Greg this was the small dining room. It was larger than all 221 Baker street combined. They sat with Sherlock and John on one side and Mycroft and Lestrade on the other. Mummy sat at the head of the table, a spot that suited her, but both Mycroft and Sherlock could have sat there if they chose to, both could have claimed the head of the house as being themselves. "So Gregory, I hear you're the Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard! That's quite an achievement for someone as young as yourself" John zoned out of the casual conversation, focusing instead on the reactions the brothers had to certain topics. Mycroft gripped his fork harder when Greg's ex wife came up, and it was clear that Sherlock itched to interject when Greg forgot an important aspect of a case.

"What about you John, I hear that you were in the army" "Yes, Afghanistan. Beautiful country really, lovely people until they start shooting at you" She smirked at that, smirking must run in the family, John thought to himself. "Mycroft tells me you were quite the ladies man" Testing him. "I was, very stupid of me I think now, considering the fact that I could have had Sherlock all along otherwise but, what can you do?" She nodded very slightly and the conversation continued onto lighter topics for a while. "Sherlock, Mycroft, go and fetch dessert. Now, both of you, go on." Sherlock stared at John, the flicker of worry returning to his otherwise seamless facade. His eyes stayed on John's until Mycroft shut the door behind them.

"Now that they're gone it's my duty to say my piece and be done with it. I am very protective of my sons, Sherlock especially. I hope that I can trust you to keep Mycroft happy enough Gregory because I quite like you. However if, things turn bitter, I hope you will not take it as an offense to your person if I send a hitman after you" Greg creased his mouth for a moment and then nodded slowly. "John, you seem to be exactly what Sherlock needs. I hope that I can trust you to tread carefully. You may not realise it but you hold in your power a very fragile man, and he has been hurt before. I get the feeling that you could destroy him. Permanently. I am putting my faith in you to try your hardest because if he is hurt, I will personally find you." John already knew everything she said was true, could see the frailty of Sherlock's love through his wariness to do simple affectionate things, John could see his fear everytime. Not sex, that was almost easy, it was other things. Something made him wary of them, and John knew his name was Sebastian."I know" was all he had to say and she knew he understood.

"Alright then. I'm glad to get to spend some time with you both although I dare say I feel as if I know you both very well already." She smiled wryly at both of them as Mycroft and Sherlock returned. Perfectly timed. In his head John was beginning to think he had underestimated the mother of two brilliant men. In some shape or form she must be exceptional. Dessert passed in brief spats of conversation but it was clear that Sherlock and Mycroft were curious as to what Mummy had said to John and Greg. "It's getting late, about time we retired I think." Mummy rose and gave a gentle bow to the table and left, stalking up the stairs and into her room. Sherlock also rose, but he simply gestured to John to follow and as always, he did.

He ran along after Sherlock, twisting and turning down am endless stream of corridors until suddenly the wind hit him and they were outside. An enormous evergreen forest met them and Sherlock had disappeared into the trees. "Sherlock?" John whispered, he got the feeling that this was a secret. A curly head popped out from the tree trunk. It was a tree cavity. John smiled at the thought of a young Sherlock hiding in it to avoid eating his vegetables. "Do come in, I'll be closing the door behind us." John crouched low and crawled. It was bigger on on the inside, then again it was an enormous tree. "274 year old sequoia, perfect hide out. Mycroft would never have deigned to get his suit dirty long enough to find it." The hollow trunk was well furnished, there was a desk and chair, books and an old park bench all snugly fitted in with room to spare for walking around. "What did Mummy say to you?" Sherlock asked, face half turned away, perching on the bench. "She said to be careful, that you've been hurt before and that if I destroy you she will personally find me." Sherlock laughed dryly at that last, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes. "And now, you're wondering who it was, when it was, why it was? I'll tell you. Eventually." John dropped onto the bench beside him and took his hand. "Okay." And they watched the sunset together through the hollow in the tree.  
It as well past three am when Greg woke, his throat aching and dry. Careful so as not to disturb Mycroft, he rose and made his way to the kitchen. A soft noise gave him reason to pause. He stood, completely still and waited. Again the noise sounded from Sherlock and John's room. It didn't sound like anything good was going on. Tip-toeing Greg pressed an ear to the door and listened. "Seb... no... I... hurts" the quiet whimper was a sleeping Sherlock. "Shhhhh, it's alright Sherlock, I'm here, I'm here" he could hear John whispering to the clearly nightmare riddled man. Greg felt sick to his stomach as he walked away. What had this Sebastian done?

**Worlds longest A/N: I do like the idea of a past relationship haunting Sherlock in his sleep, mainly because he's not aware of it... I'm thinking I have an idea about what happened between Sherlock and Sebastian, although I'm not sure yet... Letting you know that I do read your suggestions and I'm working on them right now, probably be the in... 2 chapters, gotta have some continuity and what not! If you have any thoughts on... Anything? you know where to find me in, I know there's a lot of sitting about but, they're tired okay!? I know Mummy doesn't seem that bad but it's not how she would ordinarily act, it's just because she's app for them all. Last thing, as you know I've been on internet lock down for a week or so now, and that's why all of this is long and possibly terrible, they'll improve I hope, I'll try to to make it better! Thanks again for everything ~S**


	8. Chapter 8

Greg had not slept at all, he replayed Sherlock's soft cries over and over in his head. If he hadn't before, he now fully understood John's hatred. It was apparently completely warranted. The bed was warm, stiflingly so, and as it had just turned six am, He figured it was an acceptable hour now to ask Mycroft."Mycroft?" Greg whispered, though they both knew he was awake. "Yes Gregory?" "I overhead Sherlock last night, crying out in his sleep..." Mycroft shifted towards him. "It's rather unnerving is it not? Now you are intrigued as to how on earth that could happen, how anyone could touch the untouchable correct?" Greg shook his head. "It's not that, although it was shock enough when he let John... No it's more the fact that he's so... Childlike in some ways and I don't know how someone could do something so horrible that he..." Mycroft sighed. Clearly it was time to tell Gregory the story. John would get it in his own time from Sherlock himself and that would be important for them both.

"I will tell you I suppose, although I only know some of it. I cannot tell you how Sherlock felt, or how it began. All I know stems from a single night. It was Sherlock's first year in college and even at 16 he was more brilliant than all the professors combined. In later years he actually took on a lecturer, and proved him wrong in front of the entire student body. I'm told it was quite back then was... More open, he had little to fear and had not yet learned that others were to be feared. Especially if you have feelings for them. It was almost comical, watching Sherlock get banned from the single person room he had procured for setting it alight the fifth time. If you ever happen to be near Oxford, the Talula Hughes house? You can guess who payed for that. Anyhow, that is why Sherlock ended up meeting Sebastian in the first place. He was in his final year, and his roommate had recently killed himself so there was space. Sherlock refused adamantly but in the end he had little choice in the matter. He had to live with him for the final month. He was incredibly intelligent Sebastian, a psychopath. I was there that first day, the college had called me to convince him that education was more important than his single room. I had some people help move his things in. Sherlock was in a huff, but he had not yet met Sebastian. I could not stay so I simply told him to keep me updated. After I left I'm not sure what occurred up to a point. Sherlock never spoke of it. It was the last night of May..."

Sherlock hated being locked in his mind palace. Sleep did that to him. It was incredibly boring. Especially when he knew what was coming. It was all Mummy's fault for mentioning him.  
He dreamt it as well as if he were really there, watching himself at 16. That Sherlock Holmes had no clue what was about to happen. Every time Sherlock had to watch himself, yet he could feel everything, see everything 16 year old him was seeing, hearing, thinking. He was standing outside the room he was to live in and there he was, Sebastian

sidled up to him, his eyes cold. Young Sherlock was enthralled by him. Understandable, Sebastian was a perfect specimen. Athletic build, sallow skin, short chestnut brown hair and those eyes. Ice blue, almost grey. He was a genius, Sherlock could tell right away and he was drawn to him. In his research late at night while Sebastian was away he figured out what it was. He had a crush. That was fine. He could deal with that, it was what happened after a solid week of not seeing Sebastian again that changed things.

Mycroft paused for breath, and Greg waited in silence, feeling fear creep up in his stomach as he realised where the story might be going. "In public, Sherlock was nothing. Less than nothing. Sebastian would physically recoil at the sight of him, call him a freak. Sherlock, for the life of him, could not figure out why he was doing that. He had no idea what a relationship was supposed to be like. He never questioned it which was ultimately his downfall"

Sherlock almost loathed himself more for enjoying what was about to happen next.  
Sebastian had stormed in after a long night partying and crushed Sherlock against the wall. Sebastian's hands were down his jeans and loosening him and before long he was writhing against Sebastian. It was rough and terrifying and Sherlock's first time and yet it felt amazing and he was coming and Sebastian was coming inside him and in the dark of their dorm room Sebastian dumped Sherlock on the floor and clambered into bed, leaving him confused yet satisfied and yearning for more. It was always sudden, like an onslaught of sleet on a cold day. Sebastian would arrive in and Sherlock would be bent over couches, against walls, over the table. He never saw the anger in Sebastian's eyes as he took him from behind every time without fail. Sebastian did not caress Sherlock, or kiss him or touch any part of him except his hips or his hair. A part of Sherlock needed him to. His touch would mean his approval and Sherlock so desperately wanted his approval. The idea of himself being so blind made him furious. Approval was for idiots, and Sebastian was not the type of person who's approval he should have wanted. The scene changed yet again. Sherlock began to quiver. He was afraid, still, after all this time, of what came next.

"He was possessed I suppose, by some belief in humanity. He assumed that this was the right thing to do. After all it would mean little, they had already crossed the threshold, this was a non issue. He wanted Sebastian to be... more" Greg was almost positive now. He found himself feeling rage boiling up in his stomach. He tried to lay still but Mycroft knew. "Try not to be so evident around Sherlock, he'll see right through you. That day I just happened to be nearby..."  
Sherlock could feel the cool summer breeze licking at his skin through the open window. The night was silent and the darkness was heavy, a thick blanket that smothered the world. In the end he didn't need to watch. He could still see Sebastian walking through the door, hear himself rush to meet him, feel his heart beating fast in his chest as he pressed his lips to Sebastian's for the first time. He could hear the resounding crack of Sebastian's hand across his face, the taste of salty tears mixed with blood filled his mouth. Sebastian was not yet finished. Sherlock heard the metallic zing of his butterfly knife opening as Sebastian threw him to the ground, growling insults and tearing his shirt apart at the seams, exposing his back. He felt the vibrations of his own quiet screams of pain as Sebastian sliced him with the knife in little jagged bursts. The sound of his laughter echoed off the walls, manic. Sherlock saw himself cowering, pleading, swearing never to do it again. He still remembered Sebastian cutting open his trousers and plunging inside him, he was unprepared and unprotected. Sherlock listened to his own whispers of pain and protest that were unheeded. Blood streamed down his back and Sebastian continued forcing himself into Sherlock, occasionally stopping to pour lemon into the cuts on his back or widen them. Sherlock remembered the disgust and terror he felt when Sebastian had left. He had lain on the floor for hours before texting Mycroft. He did not tell him about the rape. He didn't need to. As soon as it ended, the sequence started up again and Sherlock steeled himself to relive the pain and terror once. He had no choice. He was trapped in his head.

"I tried to take him to hospital of course but he refused. I simply had to let him take his time. He lay in that bed for two weeks, face down. He barely slept and when he did the nightmares plagued him, even worse than they are now. I could do nothing. Not even touch him. He was never the same, there was no one else. Only during his drug days did he even consider anything remotely sexual again and that was only for the drugs. Sebastian ruined him in one way, and made him in another. He owes his deductive science to Sebastian, the reason he became so paranoid of people that he had to know every little detail about them. I despise him with every fibre of my being, and so does mummy."

Greg was silent. He thought back to the day he had first seen Sherlock's back, the way he had covered up so quickly when he realised that his back, his history, was on display. "You cannot tell John this. I don't think he is aware of Sebastian." Greg almost laughed at that. Mycroft still believed John was a bit dim. "He knows about him, well enough to hate him. He doesn't sleep when Sherlock has nightmares. I heard him, rocking and comforting Sherlock in his sleep. He has no clue about what happened but, he still comforts Sherlock because he knows it's the right move." Mycroft smiled. "John always had a soft spot for helping those in need. Obviously loving my brother would bring out the protective side of him like almost nothing else does" Greg rolled closer to Mycroft, the story had made him crave touch, just to assure himself he could

have it, even though he knew Mycroft was not Sebastian. Mycroft pressed his hand into Greg's and they lay side by side. They never were the cuddling type.

"Shhh it's okay hun, it's alright, I'm right here, I'll always be right here" Sherlock woke to hear John's voice, whispering softly into his ear, arms wrapped tightly around him, one hand stroking his hair. "Hun?" John faltered for a moment and Sherlock turned to look at him. "Sherlock is a bit long to be saying all the time... Besides it suits you, sleeping you anyway." Ah. He had been obvious then, about what he was dreaming about. Sherlock quivered and shuffled closer to John, breathing in his smell. "Thank you. For holding me. It's... good. How long...?" John held him closer still, yawning slightly. "All night. I don't mind, I quite like holding you." Sherlock smiled down at John. "John" Sherlock almost purred the word and John grinned, kissing him softly before nestling down to catch a few hours sleep. His hand found Sherlock's ear and stroked absent mindedly at the lobe. Sherlock found himself growing drowsy. He did not protest when he fell into a restful sleep, dreaming of John calling him hun for the rest of his life. They still had four hours before it was time to make an appearance at breakfast.

A/N Well I didn't think this arc would be so long but a weekend is a long time... Just one or maybe two more and then back to the way it was before. At least you finally get the Sebastian story, now for some fluff to counteract? What activities will they do? Horse riding maybe? Or will I just continue from them leaving the estate? As always, you kno where to find me -S


	9. Chapter 9

The morning was blissfully uneventful, breakfast had been a quiet affair. It was when they were all seated around the table, nursing various mugs of tea and coffee that discussion about how to spend the day began. "We could ride after breakfast" Mycroft quipped, mouth slightly full. John met Greg's eyes as they stifled a giggle. Sherlock smirked. Mummy smiled a little, it had been a long time since Sherlock had ridden one of the horses and he was a natural. "Do you ride?" she asked, addressing the two chuckling men. "I've been on a horse before, but it was very slow. Might have been a pony" "There's a mounted division of the force so I have some basics... kind of..." Mummy just gave them both knowing looks and gestured to the glass door that overlooked the majority of the estate. "Now seems like as good a time as any, after all I plan on seeing you both during the holidays and we always ride then, it's a time honoured tradition." Her tone was rather serious, it was not really a request.

Mycroft looked at all of them, his eyes sweeping over the different suits at the table. "Sherlock and I will provide suitable attire. We shall reconvene in 20 minutes by the stables." With that, The four of them took off up the stairs. Mummy smiled after they had gone. She knew they wouldn't be able to resist this perfect opportunity to show off. It was their nature after all.

Sherlock surveyed the contents of the wardrobe, knowing well that Mycroft would have prepared for every possibility and sure enough, a pair of tough jeans and a soft, check shirt were hung next to a similar, but longer and darker pair of jeans and a loose white shirt. He tossed John his gear, eyeing the various footwear available. Riding boots, supple tan leather for John, his own charcoal. For someone as opposed to the social pastime of stereotyping as he was, Mycroft fit the conventional "gay" very well. John was already dressed by the time Sherlock turned around, he had been deep in thought after all. "I feel like I'm in one of those old western films you hate" John grinned crookedly as Sherlock handed him the boots and set about stripping and dressing again quickly. "The plot lines to those films are terrible, even an idiot like Anderson could figure out the ending. Besides which, you look _much_ less irritating than they ever did." John laughed and Sherlock smiled openly, he so loved to make John laugh. "Let's go then."

Sherlock's hand entwined itself into John's as they strolled through the gardens. The stables were a mere dot on the horizon and having some more time alone was something Sherlock did not want to pass up. Even he had to admit that there was a fantasy like beauty to the place, beams of sunlight shone through gaps between trees, illuminating dust motes and giving the green glades a surreal glowing quality. The faint trickle of the river and birds chirping played in the background, and the occasional flower bush or bed added an explosion of vibrant colour to the landscape. John could see why Sherlock would have hidden outside when he was young, it was breathtaking. He had fallen into step with Sherlock and held him close. It was incredibly romantic, the quiet stroll to the stables was a much appreciated chance to enjoy just being near the other, able to look and smile and just be. They were comfortable to walk in silence, talking would have broken the spell somehow.

The journey was not long enough, and when they reached the stable John was almost disappointed that they had to go inside. Mummy, Mycroft and Greg were already saddling up when the arrived. Sherlock lead John past the half doors until they had reached the last two doors. "I'll show you how to mount" Sherlock said exuberantly, his excitement showing through. He strode confidently into the stall with a grey, it's white skin luminous. John watched in fascination at the gentle manner in which Sherlock crooned to the horse while he put on his saddle and bit. He could hear the others going outside, the steady clip clop of hooves on the ground peppered with a quiet swear from Greg.

He turned to look back and Sherlock was on the horse. He looked majestic, as if he had been born to ride, tall and princely. With a wry smile he tilted his head towards the next room and John made his way inside. The horse he was to ride was a dark chestnut. He was wary of it, but it's eyes were bright and welcoming, plus it stayed very still while he got on. John looked very much like a cowboy Sherlock thought to himself as he watched John maneuver the horse out of the stall and over to the door to stand next to his own steed.

The track was smooth, centuries of feet and hooves alike had worn it down. John was very thankful, he could only imagine the pain his legs would be in later if the jostling got anymore intense. So focused was he on staying on the horse that he didn't see at first just how incredible Sherlock looked. His curls and shirt were being tossed by the wind, glinting in the sunlight, and his form was perfect, as if the horse was an extension of himself. They were one, the slightest movement and the steed reacted, until the two were galloping through the forest with ease. John couldn't stop himself from staring, maybe it was just the amount of chick flicks he'd been subjected to in the past, but right now Sherlock could have been the knight on a white horse, come to save the day, and looking damn fine while doing it.

Trusting his instincts to guide him had always worked well in the past, so John kept to that philosophy on the horse. It worked pretty well, he didn't look anywhere near as graceful as Sherlock, but then again he never did. Eventually he managed to catch up and keep pace. "How is it that you manage to look graceful on horseback? Is there something you don't look graceful doing?" Sherlock smirked "No, I was subjected to the pastimes of gentry from an early age, equestrian, polo, croquet, ballroom dance, that sort. It was painfully boring but I picked them up with ease to avoid spending any time on them and then deleted the majority of the information, apart from equestrian. Horses are rather useful to me at times, I'm not particularly graceful at all." John raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "We both know you are, so denying it's pointless. Where are we off to?"

Sherlock acquiesced and looked around, mapping the estate in his head. "Forest track, leads to the lake, 5km ride, should take about an hour, the others are waiting for us up ahead" and sure enough, they were. They cantered into the forest at a leisurely pace, and soon jovial conversation broke out between them. Even Mycroft and Sherlock sniped at each other less. In fact, the weekend as a whole had been thousands of times more pleasant than either of the Holmes' were anticipating, Sherlock was pretty sure it had to do with John's charisma, he had a way with people in general, a likeablitiy that was near impossible to emulate. It made Sherlock wonder if he had have met John sooner, whether he could have maintained a relationship with his family beyond every fifth Christmas and the occasional surprise visit. He almost felt as if the concept of familial closeness was much simpler to achieve than the fighting and silence. More testing needed was the solution his brain supplied. As long as John was part of the equation he couldn't care less.

The lake front was lined with trees and shade, and as the sun beat down it was pleasant enough to sit amiably in the tall shadows, horses tethered together, watching the light dappled on the soft waves. The five of them were actually enjoying themselves, and when the time for lunch rolled around they had actually become quite a tightknit group, though secretly John was still a little scared of Mummy, the soldier in him kept the fear at bay. Something about the little looks Greg kept giving Sherlock when he wasn't looking made him dubious. Greg knew something. It dawned on him that he probably knew about Sebastian, Mycroft being the fountain of knowledge that he was. John allowed that thought to slip his mind as they trooped back to the horses and onwards for lunch. T

he stables were surprisingly cool, and while everyone else cleaned their horse, Sherlock galloped down the fields and back "Vain git" John muttered, at which he heard at least two distinct laughs. Again he couldn't tear his eyes away and barely clocked that he was alone in the stables until Sherlock rode to a halt in front of him. His pale cheeks were flushed and when he lead the horse into it's stall John followed, leaning against the door frame. Sherlock spun to face him and John raised an eyebrow and smiled.

Sherlock's cheeks were still flaming and John wanted to inflict more damage. He closed the space between them with slow strides, backing Sherlock against the wall and reaching around to his neck, moving his face down to meet his own. Their lips met, innocent at first. A gentle and playful display. That ended when Sherlock pressed John closer to him, holding him in place and moaned softly into his mouth. John's tongue was on Sherlock's lower lip instantly, and there was no hesitation until he was granted access. The kiss deepened until both were breathing heavily and Sherlock had flipped their positions, putting himself in control. His mind palace was buzzing with John, every nonplatonic thought he'd ever had, what he liked, his reactions, like John was the only thing in the world that mattered. In a strange way, he was. Experimentally, he rolled his tongue against John's and if the ensuing pressure against his thigh was anything to go by that was one to remember. Wouldn't be difficult, John was one area that would never have a single moment deleted from his brain. John's hands had slithered under his shirt, stroking his stomach and back, pulling him closer. His mouth was moist and warm against Sherlock's, and he was breathless, heart pounding as he struggled to get closer, wanting more, wanting to be entwined and never let go. He very nearly had his way, John was already succumbing to the light push towards the hay covered floor when there was a quiet cough from the door. John had turned bright red when Sherlock broke away to see Mummy watching them with an intensity in her gaze that would have made lesser men crumble. "Lunch?" she inquired, thankfully not commenting.

Sherlock shooed her away, planting a soft, sweet, apologetic kiss on John's lips. "I'm taking you for a walk in the gardens later and then we'll go home." He took John's hand and lead him back to the house. Lunch was a Thai dish and afterward everyone seemed to have their own plans. Mycroft and Anthea (who had appeared in the background out of nowhere) were discussing work in one corner, Greg was washing up and Mummy was reading. Sherlock was thankful that the others had no plans to tour the gardens, not only would it be a great distraction from reading his past trouble in Greg's puffy eyes and mis-buttoned shirt, it would be some more time with John aside from anything else.

More time before he was back on cases and ignoring him, more time before John would go to the clinic for a day or two. It was a very surreal feeling, not being bored without a case. Sherlock kept waiting for the boredom to come, but these days it never did, and Sherlock was becoming increasingly aware of the reason. John, feelings, memories, all suddenly filled the unoccupied moments in his head. Shockingly, he didn't mind. He quite liked it in fact. There was something, something tangible beneath it all, and he did not as of yet have a label for it. These were the things that ran through his mind as he strolled over the gravel path that lead to the gardens, John's hand clasped lightly in his. The sun was just beginning to set, pink light made the whole expanse of land glow. Sherlock did not notice. He was busy, watching John, and how content he was.

The hedge maze had always been a favourite of Sherlock's, the physics of it all had been a great occupier of time when he was seven, especially when hiding after an experiment gone awry. The chemical spill had been one to remember, with Sherlock hiding for two days at the center because he was the only one that could get there. The maze had been specifically designed for him when Mummy had realised his abilities, her own little experiment. He remembered she had almost seemed pleased when it came out that he had been there the entire time. The centre of the maze was tranquil, the perfect spot for thinking. It housed a small conservatory and fountain that were surrounded by a sea of green. John was in awe of the ease with which Sherlock navigated, just as he had been during the first case. The maze was so very silent, it reminded him of Afghanistan in that respect. T

hey ended up in the conservatory, with Sherlock's head on John's lap while they sat on the sofa. Sherlock fiddled with the leather bracelet on John's wrist, His army tags were attached to it and John never took it off. Sherlock felt John chuckle. "You have this fascination with it, my bracelet." Sherlock looked up at him "Every letter has a part of places you've been ingrained into it. Sand from Afghanistan, Dust from London, even some of our cases have a place in the engravings. If even one of them had been different we might never have met, and I would never have seen what I was missing out on." They lapsed into silence. "Well, neither would I." he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, by the way. For all of this. I'll remember it when we have cases and you ignore me" he laughed briefly "Is it terrible that I'm excited to go home, and I'm hoping there's been a murder?" Sherlock grinned at that. "You are constantly surprising me John, constantly surprising."

**A/N Thanks for all your suggestions, I did say that I'd take them on board, and I always keep my promises! So we'll be back to Baker street next chapter, it's been too long. A case, that's what I'm thinking... prepare for a wild ride... Keep the ideas coming! -S**


	10. Chapter 10

_The dwindling light only added to the atmosphere of the whole thing, the only light was from the tip of his cigarette. The ash would be enough to identify him, so he tipped it into his pocket. The spotlight was a nice touch, he had to admit that it gave the whole show an audience, even if it wasn't the right kind. He giggled,pouring the sand at a steady pace. The funnel had been a stroke of genius, there was no mess left if he used that. The worst bit came after, resewing the top layer of skin and muscle back to the rest was time consuming, but necessary for the full enjoyment. That way the uniforms stayed clean. Still giggling in a high pitched voice he dragged over the new sewing machine he had made. It whirred and hissed as it punctured the sinewy muscle with thread. While that did it's job he pressed the jacket and trousers again, pinning the medals to it and prepared the scaffolding for the main event. A single beep broke the heavy silence. It was pulled the clothes onto the captain with practiced hands, and the knots he tied were stronger than ever. His favourite part had arrived. Flicking the camera on he began the show, pulling the strings, making the captain move and dance, his body limp as a ragdoll but for the addition of sand. He moved in grotesque jerks, mouth sewn shut, eyes wide open as they had been at the moment he had died. When he was finished he tossed the body back on the ground, methodically stripping and draining it of sand. Satisfied that the outcome he wanted would be achieved by this, he walked out, into the black night and faded once more into the shadows._

John opened the door to 221b and sighed. The old smell of tea, burning and a faint hint hydrochloric acid was comforting, and he had missed it while they'd been away. Sherlock swooped in behindhim and settled himself onto the couch, lying back, hands steepled under his chin in a familiar pose. "Coffee?" John asked, already having the kettle on for tea. Sherlock didn't respond, but that was usually a yes so John carried his coffee -black, two sugars- over to him. Sherlock accepted the cup and placed it on the small table. John slipped into his armchair and opened his laptop. "Blogging about our exploits?" John laughed "I don't think people want to hear about how fantastic you look on horseback quite honestly, although the photo I took is really something... No, just letting people know we're back if there's any cases" Sherlock furrowed his brow. "I don't remember you taking a photo..." John winked at him "That was the point."

Sherlock pouted a little but he couldn't keep it up. "We've been gone a whole weekend, with the only semi competent DI in the yard. There's bound to be something good, perhaps a nice triple murder. Not good?" He asked as John stared at him, eyes wide. "A little bit not good yeah... I'm more surprised that I agree with you. Been too long since we have been almost shot or blown up. You start to miss it" John called with a shrug from the kitchen. It was only partly sarcastic. Sherlock chuckled and sipped at his coffee. Mrs Hudson trundled up the stairs with post and biscuits for them. "Boys a man was here for you earlier, said that he was with the police" she said, plopping a plate of biscuits down. "Did he leave a name of any sort?" Mrs Hudson smiled when John handed her a cup of tea. "Thank you dear, no Sherlock, but I'm sure that Lestrade fellow who's always coming round will appear at some point" Sherlock sighed and dropped his head back onto the armrest. Lestrade would be back at the yard within the hour and until he arrived there and heard about the case, they would have nothing to do. Well, almost nothing Sherlock smirked to himself. It had been a whole caseless weekend and they hadn't had an opportunity to do anything, with the exception of that one moment in the stables. Sherlock listened, smiling to himself , as John and Mrs. Hudson chatted amiably about the days they had spent at the estate.

"Well I'll be off, Mrs. Turner and I are going for tea" The old lady closed the door softly behind her. Sherlock tossed restlessly on the couch, he wasn't bored persé, but the extent to which that state would last was as of yet untested. John was probably the best distraction he had, and there was a slight chill in the flat, the two days of disuse had left it feeling empty. As John marched past with his mug,Sherlock grabbed it from his hands and stood it next to his own before dragging a befuddled John down to lie on the couch with him. "I'm pretty sure that we've discussed it, but in case you decided to delete it, you can actually ask me to come and lie with you or whatever, The chances of me saying no are less than two percent, the exception being when I have work. Just so you know." John's lips ghosted a smile against his neck. Sherlock's breathing hitched just slightly, even now the shock of small physical displays of affection that didn't have any motive behind them was immense. John's nose was against his neck now, breathing in the warm scent that was a devastating mixture of lemon, violin resin, cinnamon and just a hint of something purely his own. Calloused hands flittered across his jaw, his cheekbones, his lips. So warm. It was overwhelming at times for John, the fact that he could do this, that he was trusted enough too. Another excellent point for his John room, the fact that John would forgo anything else, just to be near him. No sex, nothing but soft kisses and whispers of skin on skin. It was beginning to dawn on them both. They might actually be in love with each other. Not that either would admit it to themselves, let alone the other.

A car door slammed on the street outside. "Lestrade's here." Greg flew up the stairs to 221b with a manila case file in his hands. Sherlock and John were at the door and waiting for him, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. "How many?" Sherlock asked as Lestrade handed the file over. "Four over the course of the month. Latest victim was found an hour ago by a concerned neighbour." Sherlock didn't open the file, he never did. "Who's on the scene?" In his head John was praying that it wasn't Donovan. "Anderson and Donovan plus the rest of the forensics team." Sherlock pouted for just a milisecond before pulling his scarf on "We'll be behind you." Greg nodded and rushed back down the stairs, Sherlock and John on his tails. They had barely hit the pavement when a taxi pulled up. "How do you do that?" John muttered to himself as Sherlock leaped inside. "Follow that police vehicle."

The scene was a small house on the outskirts of London. John paid the cabbie and smiled as he ducked under the police tape that was being held up by Sherlock. Donovan was staring at them and snickering, and John bristled for a moment before Sherlock stepped in. "Donovan! I see you're scrubbing floors again with Anderson. I take it his wife is out of town? Oh she's not out of town, but you liked the added danger of getting caught!" Sherlock cried gleefully as they sauntered past and into the house, leaving a blushing Donovan behind. John was chuckling to himself and Sherlock was grinning when they went inside the sitting room. John's laugh died on his lips. Lestrade began talking "Male, age approximately 35, still no ID..." John butted in there. "I know him. Sergeant Charles McNamara, 5th fusiliers brigade. My old company in Afghanistan." John had gone pale, and Sherlock could feel his weight leaning against him. He took over from there.

"No living family, recently returned from military service due to injury..." Sherlock was bent down, scrutinizing the body. "Poison was initial cause of death, administered through the tea that spilled on the ground by the door, marking on his wrists suggests postmortem binding, his shoulders are dislocated, also postmortem... Lestrade take of his jacket. You have gloves, take it off right now." Sherlock could see the glint of grains in his mouth. He had at least four ideas. Lestrade sighed and peeled away the jacket, stuffing it into an evidence bag. He recoiled when he saw the torso and John swore and turned away.

"The stitching indicates the use of a machine, If he is examined you'll find the body is lined with a residue of sand." Sherlock swept about the room and stopped at the back wall. "Scaffolding. Why would... Oh. That's new." Lestrade looked up from his notes. "What's new?" Sherlock's eyes gleamed. "This killer is playing Puppet Master." By now John had distanced himself in his head from the person on the ground and was able to appreciate the deductions once more. "That's brilliant" he said and Sherlock visibly puffed up with pride. "The other victims?" Lestrade flipped through his notes. "Various ages, none look too similar, different schooling, residences are scattered across London, only connection is they were all in the military" John whipped around. "Let me see them" Lestrade handed over the folder and watched as John's eyes crumpled up in recognition. "All of these men were in my company. All of them. There's only two more people left alive from it now. Harold Thomson and me."

Sherlock tried very hard to rein in the fear that was welling up in his gut, spreading and flowing through his body like a river. "Is there anyone that would have a vendetta against your company, or you personally?" John was about to say no, Sherlock was praying he'd say no. He didn't know why, he knew there was no God, no higher power. In those moments of uncertainty, and the feeling that the floor was about to collapse beneath him, he prayed that John would say no. But he didn't. In his head he saw the scarred face of the man who'd had to shake his hand, the malice that had lingered in his eyes as he strode out into the blistering heat and never returned. John's eyes, an electric blue rose and met Sherlock's, and all he could read was skewed by the uncertainty and guilt he saw, prevalent even through the plethora emotions that presented themselves in John's eyes. John cleared his throat."There's only one man. Sebastian Moran."

**A/N Is that cliffy? I don't know! Just thought I'd mention that they stayed the night at the estate so this would be the next day. I did say it would be a wild ride, so get ready... -S**


	11. Chapter 11

Moran. The name was heavy on John's tongue, bitter tasting and solid. It pressed down on his lungs, constricting his breathing until he remembered that a panic attack was not something one wants to happen in front of your best mate and partner. Not exactly appropriate to freak out over a dead friend either. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. John hadn't had a panic attack since he had met Sherlock and yet, The name. Even the name was enough to incapacitate him completely, shoving him headfirst into a terror. Breathe Watson, breathe. Same techniques as ever, yet it was impossible to breathe, not when the taste of blood in the air was mixed with sand. His PTSD had been triggered by this before, but never so acutely. Quietly he staggered to the wall and slid down it, sticking his head between his knees.

Sherlock watched with interest, he had every intention of attempting to soothe John, but a scientific mind finds stimulation in odd places, and John's panic attack was intriguing on a personal and scientific level. Lestrade was staring at him incredulously, disbelief plastered his face as Sherlock simply watched the events unfold from a distance. Sherlock attempted to warn Lestrade to be wary, he knew touching an army veteran during one of these attacks could be detrimental to your health, mainly your heart's ability to beat. The whispered words of caution were unheeded as Lestrade walked over and placed a hand on John's shoulder. Sherlock sighed at the inherent stupidity of normal people. John's arms already had Lestrade's airways cut off and looked to be on the cusp of breaking his neck when Sherlock stepped in, soothing John with his voice until he managed to pry the hands from around an almost unconscious detective. "Ah. You touched his scar Lestrade." Sherlock said to the coughing Detective.

John had been snapped out of his panic and was sitting, arms wrapped tightly around his face in the farthest corner of the room. "Jesus, I'm so sorry Greg I don't know what came over me, I'm so sorry" John repeated over and over like a mantra as the detective got his breath back. "S'fine" he managed to say croakily. Sherlock stayed relatively quiet. "What, exactly, does this Moran have against you?" John sighed, hands steadying, his response to danger that he could handle. "It's a long story." He sighed wearily as Sherlock perched on the edge of the stuffy old sofa that was the only useable furniture in the room. Lestrade rubbed at his neck and leaned against the door, telling forensic analysts to stay out for a while. John began his tale.

"We were friends at first, basic training makes you grow into a unit, it's kind of the point. You're brothers and sisters by the time you ship out. There was something about him that made me wary, but I thought nothing of it, I mean, we're trained to kill people. Sebastian was something else. Not that we realised at first..." John peetered out into silence, staring blankly at the wall opposite. A small cough from Lestrade and he was back, shaking his head to clear away the images collected there.

"Noticing Sebastian in the corps was simple: he had people drooling over him all damn day. Objectively he was good looking, in a war scarred sort of way. I think it was his eyes that got people though, one brown and one blue crossed with a jagged scar from a knife attack. There was that and his talent. He was, still is, the sharpest shooter I've ever seen. He put instructors to shame, like a one man army. I was second best, and we kind of had it out for each other, trying to... Almost impress the other. I was a doctor, sure, but a soldier first. Helping people took a backseat during that first month, up until my first death." He shuddered, as if he disgusted himself. "Still, Moran and I were competing. He got his own battalion, and I got mine. They disappeared off base for a mission and that was fine with me, ten less men to worry about treating. It was around that time that skirmishes began to become more frequent, land mines, carbombs, enemy fire. I worked hard, fought hard, and people respected me for it. I was a damn good soldier. Sebastian came back with his squadron, minus a couple, and I kept my distance. That wasn't going to last." Sherlock's ears pricked up. Anger, bitterness, disgust, all cataloged away for later inspection.

"We were to head of a raid, enemy compound that contained a lot off explosives and hostiles. Heavy fire, low visibility." John could hear the patter of rounds firing, shouts of Arabic rising and seething out over the dull thunk of the trigger. He wondered if Sherlock would hear it too, just by looking at him. "It took time, and we lost a few men on the field, but almost all of the freedom fighters had been either killed or disarmed and charged. The smoke was clearing slowly, and I stumbled into a building off to the side. When my vision cleared I made out three shapes in the collapsed heap that it was and advanced slowly. I needn't have bothered. It was Sebastian and two of our own. I was about to call out when he raised his gun and murdered them. Murdered them both. Our men. I snook out as quietly as I could and rounded everyone else up so they wouldn't be alone with him. Especially the wounded. I carried two men home over my shoulders that day so he wouldn't touch them." A small laugh escaped his lips, the peal had an unearthly quality to it, the empty room had not been host to much laughter of late.

"We'd shaken hands that morning, laughed around a fire with those men and they were dead. I couldn't stop thinking about it when we got back, so one morning I told my superiors about it before I went to bed after the watch. They said they'd look into it and when they did sure enough the men had our bullets in them. I was almost asleep when I realised he was there, eyes locked on me. He didn't say a word, just lit a cigarette and puffed on it for a while before grinning at me and dropping it into the sand. He only said four words - see you later captain. I wasn't even captain at the time... He disappeared after that. Gone into the desert and no one saw him again. He was in line for captaincy, a near ultimate authority. Anything he said..." Sherlock finished "would have to be obeyed on pain of death." John nodded. " Now he's back and I'm going to see him again, I thought he was dead until I saw this and... It's him. Clearly he's some sort of psychopath." Lestrade stared at John, trying to figure out how best to protect him for Sherlock, and the Yard's sake.

" He walked into the desert and disappeared, yet no one questioned it?" John met his gaze "No. He went through sleepy hollow." Lestrade began another question but Sherlock answered it. "Soldiers go there to commit suicide obviously, shooting themselves. All he had to do was fire a shot and he wouldn't be disturbed because no one would venture there without the intent to remain indefinitely." Sleepy hollow was a nice name for the escape that it was for some people who were in the mindframe to do it, it was strange that no one was stopped though. Their tour must have had some very sympathetic heads to allow suicide. "Interesting. Didn't think people dug there own graves any more but they do in this sleepy hollow apparently." John nodded, grimacing before pushing himself up off the floor. "Can we..." he gestures to the door. Sherlock looked to Lestrade who just gestured that they could go.

He was worried, a deep seeded root in his stomach about this whole situation. As he fell into the front seat of the patrol car he wondered if texting Mycroft would get him hit by the younger Holmes. John was evidently exhausted when they reached Baker street. His eyes drooped low and Sherlock could tell his shoulder ached. He shepherded him straight to their room and watched while John fell calmly into sleep in minutes. The episode had probably taken a lot out of him. His phone buzzed, Lestrade needed his deductions from today and a statement from last time plus an incident report for pushing Anderson down a flight of stairs. John would sleep the night and Sherlock was better off going where he wouldn't disturb the slumber. He planted a soft kiss on his head and turned on his heel. John didn't wake when he slammed the door, nor when the window creaked. He didn't wake when the door to the bedroom was swung open. He did wake to the feeling of cold steel against his neck and one blue,one brown eye peering into his own. "_Hello captain_."

**A/N I'd say I'm sorry that it leaves it there but I'm really not :L Next chapter is going to probably have some graphic violence and other fun themes but if you don't want to read that I suggest you avoid it. I know this chapter ended kinda fast but I had trouble keeping it just the story lines I wanted so sorry for that... keep on keeping on-S**


	12. Chapter 12

"Sebastian." John said, the slight crack in his voice giving away the terror he was trying to hide. Sebastian laughed, the noise echoing through the empty apartment. "Didn't think you'd be seeing me again?" John stayed silent, weighing up his options. Was it worth it to end the game early and die now rather than wait for the inevitable to come? "Then again, I didn't expect you to meddle in my affairs again. Just couldn't help himself could he, had to solve the case, Jim was the better man, should've won. Don't worry though John, I'm here now to finish his job. Burning the heart out of Sherlock Holmes and killing you. Funny that, how my interests fit with his so well." John frowned. Burn the heart... Oh. He was Sherlock's heart. "Don't cry Johnny boy, the tin man didn't really need a heart anyway." "I'm not crying Sebastian, but more to the point, why are you here?" Sebastian growled and pressed the steel harder against his throat. One cut and he'd bleed out. "I am here to finish what Jim started. But I plan on having a little fun first." he whispered, sickly sweet breath invading John's nostrils until he felt ill. John couldn't move for fear of being slashed across the neck, nor could he speak without the pressure increasing. Smiling, Sebastian's left hand went into his pocket. John had not noticed the cylindrical shape that protruded from it before, Sherlock would have. There was a hiss as Sebastian lifted the canister to his face and the air became foggy. John's vision blurred and he felt as if he were swaying, lines between objects softening until the world was one giant mess of colour. "_Don't you worry Captain. I have big plans for you_." The voice swirled round in his head until a vacuous dark fell on him and there was nothing more.

Sebastian was pleased to find the new gas worked even better than the last, the twelve minutes of hallucination had really been a spanner in his plans. Now that Watson was asleep he could finally take a look around the place he had watched for so long. It felt surreal being inside after staring through windows for such an extended period, Like a film star at a premier. The game was simple. Sebastian had calculated it all very carefully, he had promised Jim that if there came a point where he was out of the picture that he would take over. The genius would be compelled to search for his blogger and his brother would provide a perfect middle man, his extensive cctv would finally have a use. Jim had gifted him all of his favourite toys, using them to fulfil his wishes seemed rather appropriate. The upstairs room housed John's uniform and though it was not integral in the scheme of things it was a personal touch, a warning. He bounded down the stairs with it in his arms and dressed the unconscious doctor in it, glaring at the captain's badge on his sleeve. That was the place to begin. When he was fully clothed Sebastian tossed him on the sofa and ate some food, knowing it would at the very least rile Holmes. Lighting a cigarette, Sebastian leaned back against the counter and looked at the London streets far below, filled with people who had no clue how very different their days would have gone had John not returned. There was no need to be cautious now, his audience would be watching carefully regardless, glued to the screen. He giggled, the motion wracked his body for a minute or so and then he sidled back to the couch. He threw the limp form over his shoulder with ease, constant training and exercise had made him incredibly strong. Jim had liked the muscles. Sebastian tightened his grip around John and slammed the door shut with a low click.

Sherlock had taken his time with the incident report, after all he hadn't actually pushed him, he had simply brushed past with the knowledge that his equilibrium was off already. Lestrade had sat across from entire time, filling in similar forms. They were compainionable in their own way, a deep friendship that had formed over many years, but nothing close to how he had first felt about John. Rightly so, John was much more intelligent than Lestrade, and kind, and brave to boot. "If you keep sighing I will have to kick you" Lestrade said wearily. He just wanted to go home and have dinner alone with Mycroft for the first time in a good five days. Sherlock hadn't realised he had been sighing at all, but maybe he had been. He signed the bottom of the page with a flourish and handed it to Lestrade. "Call if Moran strikes again." with that he was gone in a dramatic flurry of coat tails and clicking heels. If there was ever a reason to go home John was it. Even in sleep he was what Sherlock wanted, needed even. If Sherlock straggled into bed as the sun rose John simply moved over to make room for his against his skin. That was what Sherlock was looking forward to on the drive home.

While the Moran case was interesting by it's own merit, they knew the culprit and his main motives. All they could really do was wait to see where they could catch him and then do that. Not exactly worth missing quality John time over. Sherlock almost recoiled at the thought, he sounded awfully dependant. John wouldn't mind. Back at Baker street he took the steps two at a time, long legs barely whispering against the steps in his attempt to preserve the silence.

He opened the door and a light breeze rolled across his face, the window was open. The window was open. It had not been open when he left, it had been opened from the outside. "John?" the apartment still smelled of John, but there was something more there, a tangy metallic taste that was common with anesthetic, cigarette smoke and a sickly sweet note of decaying fruit. Sherlock's heart was beating hard in his chest, pounding against his ribcage and threatening to beat the oxygen from his lungs. Someone had been in John's old room. Sherlock bounded up the stairs and almost fell to the floor when he reached the open door. Slowly but surely John had been moving his clothes and books into their room, leaving only his army gear behind. The wardrobe was empty. It was as if he was in a dream when he walked down the stairs again, his feet moving mechanically towards the bedroom where he'd left John less than a few hours ago. He had known before opening the door that the bed would be empty, the body that should have lain there gone, long since.

Sherlock fell to his knees, faster than he had that day by the pool, but he didn't even register the feeling of his knees thumping the ground. John was gone. His phone buzzed softly, more and more insistent. He tore it out of his pocket and held it up to his ear, ready rolled spit venom at whoever it was. Mycroft's voice came through, and even Sherlock could hear that all was not quite well. "Sherlock, I take it John's disappearance has come to your attention as it has to mine. It would be best if you came to the club." Sherlock paused. "How did it come to your attention?" "Someone has hacked into the cctv system and is sending video footage live as we speak." Sherlock was running, feet tearing the pavement apart in his race to get to the club. Mycroft's voice was fluff in his ear and people were of no importance as he shoved them out of his way, mapping London in his head.

John awoke in a dark room, the sound of dripping water tethered him to reality once again. He tried to move, but he could only struggle slightly against the belts that held his limbs in place. The fabric against his skin was very much familiar. He tried to raise his head but found that was impossible. He could however just barely see himself in the mirrored ceiling. The army uniform. Of course. Tiny red lights pulsated from various points around the room and John could tell instantly that they were cameras. A door creaked open and he tensed, preparing for what was coming. The clack of steel wheels on stone flooring caught his attention. As Sebastian wheeled the trolley of implements around so he could see them John wondered if he'd be as susceptible to torture as everyone else was. They had been briefed on it in the army of course but that would mean Sebastian knew what he would expect, what he would be doing to cope and how to get around that. He had had this nightmare before.

Sherlock arrived at the diogenes club in under fifteen minutes, sprinting to the last. Mycroft's lackeys were waiting at the door for him and simply pointed to the farthest door down. Inside Mycroft was staring intently at the screen while Lucia (Anthea as John called her) sat in the corner, texting furiously. Sherlock sat in the chair across from Mycroft and made to turn the screen around but Mycroft's hands stopped his with a soft but firm movement. "Before you watch brother I have to implore you to see past the events and into the setting, the mind of the man behind the glass. It will not be easy, and it will not be pleasant." Sherlock's knuckles were white, his whole body screamed of tension and fear. He nodded mutely and Mycroft pressed a button, sending the projection onto a large screen against the wall. The room (building clearly old, not in disrepair yet, almost empty) was very dark, but the camera was perfectly positioned to catch the only are where light shone: John. He was covered in sweat and convulsing, his whole body spasming. His mouth remained shut however. Sherlock wanted to laugh at his stubbornness, always a soldier his John, even when he's being electrocuted repeatedly... Sherlock tore his eyes away from that and focused on the surroundings instead. The table John was on looked medical or prison grade, more likely medical judging by the height of it. No windows but the door was steel, locker of some sort? Convulsion could be attributed to cold temperature. Sherlock kept wandering back to John, wincing every time the taser hit his skin. Tears welled up in his eyes and his whole body felt hollow, like the whole of his organs had been scooped out. His hand reached instinctively to the screen and rested on John. Mycroft made no attempt to move him.

John steeled again for the shock, teeth firmly pressed together though it felt like they would just drop out of his skull at any moment. He was not relieved when no shock arrived. That meant boredom. That meant a new sensation, a new wound. He could hear the thunk of wood on skin as the vibrations rattled and the sound slapped his ears. A beating he could handle. That would almost be a blessing. The mirrors did not help him identify exactly what it was he was going to face, Sebastian's body curled over it like a mother over a child.

Sherlock and Mycroft could see it however from the safety of the office. Sherlock gasped as the metal points glinted at the camera. "No!" he whispered, hands clutching fruitlessly at the projection. Sebastian's arm rose high above his head and flew down with force against John's abdomen. John didn't feel anything yet, but he soon would. He maintained his silence as nails bit into his skin, tearing into the muscle beneath. Sherlock stared at the movement on his face, there was no sound but he could tell that Sebastian was laughing. His hands wrapped around the handle once more. Sebastian twisted, pressing the nails deeper until they hit the nerves and Captain John Watson screamed.

**A/N: When I started this story I didn't really expect it would go this way but what can ya do? The pov can be a bit confusing but hopefully you can kind of tell who's telling what. Just a quick thank you to everyone who's following and reviewing and favouriting or even just reading, it seriously is so amazing and I'm really grateful so... Yeah, thanks! Also, if anyone wants to (please please please) it would probably be good to get an accurate summary... The one I have is such lies... I write terrible summaries but then you all see that... Keep it in mind anyway ~S**


	13. Chapter 13

Greg was just about to leave the yard when his phone buzzed.  
**_John taken by Moran. Live feed established. At the club with Sherlock. Your presence is not unwanted, a car will arrive momentarily -MH _**  
Greg's face fell. John was one of his closest friends and by the formality of Mycroft's text, the situation was dire. He could not help but wonder what Sherlock would do if the worst really did happen. Then again, there are worse things than death. There wouldn't be video if John was being left alone. Sherlock would be forced to watch, he'd need to so he could crack the case but the cost... Greg had spent a lot of time thinking about how many ways John Watson had changed Sherlock for the better, after all he had never been this happy or kind-ish ever before. To lose one is to lose the other too. He would solve it, of course he would. He's bloody Sherlock Holmes, how could he not?

"Detective, are you alright?" Donovan popped her head around the door, having seen him standing still for a good ten minutes. "Hmm? Oh what yeah no I'm eh I'm fine" Sally frowned. "You sure? Did the freak do something?" Lestrade bristled, and then exploded. "No Donovan actually, he didn't do anything, just like he _never_ actually does anything _properly_ wrong! In fact if you want to know, he's been the victim of a crime! Guess who some psychopath has decided to torture while Sherlock watches via video feed because he wants to save them? Oh, hmmmmmmm let me think, it could only be _John,_ the only person who Sherlock actually cares about because John is the only person who sees past the weird bits! So no, sergeant Donovan. No, Sherlock- because his name is Sherlock and he's not a freak- didn't _do anything_. If you'll excuse me I have a criminal to catch." Sally stood, eyes wide, as Greg finished yelling and threw his coat on with a bit more force than was exactly necessary and rushed out, leaving a very confused office full of people in his wake.

A sleek black car rolled up and Greg slid inside, still seething. He was really angry at himself, after all they knew Sebastian would come after John but he'd thought it would be that Harold guy first, he thought they had time to prepare. He put his face in his hands and was silent the whole way.

Sherlock was shaking, eyes rimmed red with the tears that refused to fall, yet were still created. John's breaths were shallow and fast, and even Mycroft could see the effort it was taking for him to lie still when his whole being was screaming that he should curl up into a ball to avoid being attacked again and to try let the wounds clot. "Any ideas?" Mycroft asked in a brief respite from the torture. "Three. I want to be certain, and I want to go now but... I might be wrong. What if I am wrong and I go and while I'm gone..." he didn't need rolled finish that sentence. Mycroft too feared that this may well be the last they saw of John Watson. He could only imagine how short a time his brother would remain if that were to occur. Most likely only long enough to kill Moran, and then himself. "I do not doubt you Sherlock, this is your John. You will not fail him." Sherlock turned to look back at the screen and prepared to search again.

John squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, forcing himself to remain conscious, even if it meant being awake for more. God he could hear him laughing, the same lilting laughter that Moriarty employed. Bile rose in his throat at the squelching noise the nail covered paddle made as it exited his flesh. The blood began running out of the holes and down his stomach, soaking into the fabric of his uniform until it was an unrecognizable shade of burgundy. He counted the pain points. Nine nails then. Sebastian poured a shot of vodka into each hole, smiling broadly at the way John's face wrinkled up when it hit the cuts. John did the calculations. At this rate the blood loss wouldn't kill him for another three hours or so. Three hours would have to be enough. Sebastian turned away, lighting a cigarette and John stared into one of the cameras, then each of them in turn. He raised his hands and made a capital H, then held up three fingers. He hoped that they were watching, that they'd understand. As Sebastian turned back around John did one last thing to aide his partner. He made a tiny cross.

Sherlock locked eyes with John through the screen, it was as if John had known he was there, because the first camera he chose to look through was the right one. Sherlock saw the movement and looked to his hands. Three hours. That's how long John could hold on. Only three hours. A cross? So it was a hospital then, or was he just confirming the fact that the table was medical grade? No, John wasn't as observant as he should be, he would barely have noticed the fact that the restraints were built into the table, especially when he was physically compromised. Hospital. 13 in the immediate London area,27 within two hours drive of London,11 of which are decomissioned. Sherlock was no longer present in the room. Regardless of that, he hadn't even blinked when Greg arrived a good ten minutes prior because his eyes were locked on John.

Mycroft whispered quietly to him from the other side of the room now that Sherlock wouldn't be disturbed by it. "Jesus Mycroft! Will John be okay? Three hours isn't a long time" Mycroft fiddled with his cuffs before responding. " There are a few possible outcomes from this situation. Preferably both John and Sherlock escape relatively unharmed from Moran. Unfortunately they don't exactly have the best track record for safety in the field. I am under no illusion that should this end with the death of John , Sherlock will not last for very long. There is obviously, the possibility of a trap. We will have to tread carefully, and yet haste is the only option we have. I hope you are prepared for combat Gregory, because I will be entrusting Sherlock's back up to you. Obviously he will refuse any help, but he will inevitably need it." Greg nodded, if he couldn't do anything to rectify the mistake he made by not putting John in protective custody, he would do something for him by protecting Sherlock. "Right. What do we do now?" Mycroft sat back down. "We watch."

John was beginning to feel woozy, the blood had slowed to a creep, thick droplets rolling sluggishly across his skin, chasing rivulets of sweat to pool around his back. Sebastian watched him, stared at him even, as if he were a piece of food. The cigarette was half done, and that meant that his break was half done too. Sebastian's eyes swept up his arm and settled at the top of it, where his captain's patch was sewn on. Two steps and he was looming over him, blowing smoke in his eyes before pulling the cylinder from his lips and placing the tip onto his patch. The fibres shriveled quickly, blackening into wisps of nothing and still the burning went on. His skin was bare before Sebastian moved off, pulling the bracelet from his wrist. That made John furious, more so than he had been throughout the affair. It confused him as well, right up until Sebastian pressed the engraved surface against his newly exposed skin. The lighter flickered to life and illuminated the room for a few moments before Sebastian pressed it against the metal. John could smell his skin sizzling, burning his name into his skin. As the tag began to heat up it burned red and black, certainly second degree John thought as he struggled against the bonds, tearing the holes in his stomach wider with his movement. At least one thing had been clarified. He was in an old psychiatric hospital.

The sudden glow from the screen that had previously been an ocean of black lit only by the luminescence of John's skin attracted Sherlock's eye and in the milliseconds that he could see he gathered an abundance of information. It was a mental institution, John was in the shock therapy sector, which would explain the restraints better. That narrowed down a significant amount. "Move." Sherlock pushed Mycroft aside as he began typing furiously. "That will look fantastic on my browser history" Mycroft grumbled as Sherlock hit search. He knew only four of these hospitals had even existed in London but all of them had been decommissioned years ago. He needed to see inside them all. The first, Greater London hospital for the unsound mind, had been demolished. Unluckily that was the closest one. Sherlock was doing a great job of ignoring what was happening until he heard Greg gasp and turn away. He looked up to see the full extent of the burns John had received. Several blisters littered his skin, but it was the blackened areas that threatened to make him falter. His heart hurt, physically pained him. His symptoms were not conducive to any type of heart failure, and it was clear that this was that ordinary people felt when someone they loved was in trouble. Love... Did he love John? Sherlock put that thought away for later, he could not afford to think about it right now.

The second hospital was still intact, but it was older, much older. The place would be a near ruin by now without the proper maintenance. That left two, and they were equally likely. Similar ages nigh on identical in architecture, this would be a choice. "50/50" Sherlock whispered. "What?" Greg quipped, looking back to the computer. "It's a 50/50 chance that whichever one of these I go to, the other will contain John. There's only time to get to one." Greg looked at his watch. They had only got just under two hours left. "Right. Well then, which one are we going for?" Sherlock glared at him. "I will be going to that one." Greg looked at the photo. It was an old, crumbling redbrick building with barred windows. There was an obvious basement level that had no windows, in keeping with what they could see on the video. "We're going Sherlock, it's going to be dangerous, hell, everything you do is dangerous but this time John isn't there to cover you. So I'm going Sherlock, whether you like it or not. Plus," Greg smiled slightly "I have handcuffs, and a gun." "I will stay here to update you if necessary." Mycroft ushered them to the door and the waiting car. "Do be careful brother." He added as they closed the door. Sherlock smiled. He would be very, very careful.

**A/N Oh. My. God. 50 followers. Are you kidding me! Thank you all so much! I just... Thank you. Still looking for a new summary if you feel generous, that would be cool. I have two ways this arc (and eventually the whole fic, because the ending depends on how this arc ends) could end SO I'm asking you lot: do we want a happy ending to this whole torture thing or do we want to make it depressing? I can do either! Ask and you shall receive ~S**


	14. Chapter 14

One hour thirty two minutes. That was all the time left before the world ended and Sherlock was determined that he would stop it. If he didn't, he would pay the price in an instant with all his heart. He steepled his hands beneath his chin, because if he was correct (and he doubted he was wrong) a plan would be necessary. Greg tapped his foot, jigging up and down as if his life depended on it.** Be careful Gregory, I want you home for dinner-MH** He smiled wryly at the text, happy to know that Mycroft was still thinking of him, that he was preoccupying even a small portion of his mind. "You'd think, given the gravity of the situation, that this car would go bloody faster" Greg mused, staring at the back of their driver's head intently. "It will take fifty six minutes regardless. To speed up would result in a necessary lane change, and if the car twelve meters up is anything to go by we'd be stuck in traffic. Obviously." Sherlock looked over to see Greg stifle a giggle. "I'd been wondering when you'd be back to your old obnoxious self! Makes me even more eager to get John" Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to focusing on the task ahead. It was clear that the shock therapy unit was underground, and John would be in the farthest room from any exits. They needed the element of surprise on their side if they were all getting out of this alive.

John wheezed and coughed, the taste of his own seared flesh permeating his mouth. It always seemed that his dominant hand or arm rather was the one to get injured. First the shooting in Afghanistan and now this, his left arm would be a myriad of scars by the time he died. There was a distinct possibility that the burns wouldn't have time to scar. John was not an idiot, he knew full well that the drowsiness he was feeling would begin to overcome him soon enough, although he had no idea how soon. Time passing wasn't really the big issue. Sebastian tore the metal away from his arm, the skin had molded onto the tag, leaving blackened pieces in the engraving. Sherlock wouldn't like that particular reminder John thought to himself as Sebastian stalked away, tossing the bracelet back onto his chest. There was more coming. He could tell that this was not yet over, Sebastian had an end game in sight and the only way he would let John out of here would be in multiple pieces. John looked up at himself in the mirrored ceiling and wondered if he had looked this disheveled when he'd been shot. Probably.

Snarling, Sebastian wheeled around and curled his hand into a fist. John could only wait as he saw the appendage hurtling towards his face. It struck just above his cheekbone, and he was thankful that this wouldn't lead to a shattered cheek. Facial reconstructive surgery would cost a fortune. His head was throbbing and by the time Sebastian tired of hitting his face John could barely see, let alone speak. He'd been incredibly careful to keep his tongue out from between his teeth, but it wasn't worth risking accidentally biting it off just to make a remark. It was around then that John realised he really couldn't hear Sebastian all that well, his voice just faded into the background. Come to think of it the groggy feeling had gotten worse, the whole world was muffled and John was tired. His eyes drooped and he fought to keep them open, he had to stay awake. Sherlock needed him awake.

The car glided to a halt outside the gates and Sherlock hopped out, followed moments later by Greg who sent the last in a series of texts before realising they'd stopped. The gates were unlocked and a light shove meant all they had to do was walk inside. The driveway was long, supposedly to lengthen the distance an escapee would have to navigate before reaching freedom, which was logical enough. Greg spoke to the driver briefly and he simply nodded his understanding, twenty minutes and he was to be at the front doors with the car, just in case. Sherlock was fidgeting, anxious now that they would be too late. "You remember what I told you?" he gave Greg a piercing look, and Greg simply adjusted his stance and grunted the affirmative, loading his gun quietly as they began they're descent. The wind whispered through the trees and blew stray leaves across their path, like tumbleweed in an old western movie.

The whole thing seemed like a dream, it was strange to think about his job at the best of times but this topped the list for Greg. He was walking into a psychiatric hospital that looked even from a distance like something out of a horror movie with his partner's brother who happened to work with him and insult him constantly, and they considered themselves friends, to try and save _his_ partner from a maniac obsessed with murdering him and destroying Sherlock. If he didn't know better he'd seriously consider that they were in an episode of that show Mycroft liked... Supernatural, just short a demon and an angel. And a cool car. When they reached the entrance Sherlock reached into Greg's pocket for his torch. Greg was about to protest, loudly, when Sherlock shook his head and put a finger to his lips. Silence from here on out. They only had twenty seven minutes left.

John really couldn't keep his eyes open for very long, the lids had grown steadily heavier as they swelled up into purple lumps protruding from his face. The beating had not stopped, just moved from face to chest. With the difficulty he was having breathing John could only hope that a cracked rib or two were the worst of his problems. At least it's not the nail bat again he scoffed to himself. Sebastian was panting, his knuckles torn and bleeding, or just covered in John's blood. He couldn't really tell. Either way Sebastian was tired now, and his hands were sore. He picked up a small blade and twirled it almost gently between his thumb and forefinger, looking at his watch and grinning. "Your genius isn't as clever as you seem to believe he is Johnny boy" Sebastian crooned at him. John couldn't answer, he didn't even hear what Sebastian had said. Every few seconds he would drift out of consciousness. It was pretty pleasant actually, a brief respite from the pulsing agony that was his body.

The first time everything had simply gone dark but after that he had found himself in a garden. Mycroft's garden to be precise. He would look around and there, sitting with his back to him on the edge of the lake was Sherlock. John would walk towards him and he'd turn around, face lighting up with a bright smile and beckon him closer, patting the grass next to him. He'd get just close enough to smell that smell that was undeniably Sherlock and he'd be back with Sebastian in the dark cell. It probably hurt more than all the beating and torture combined, simply because he had to come back to this. Every time without fail he'd come to and search for the raven curls he had become used to seeing and disappointment would rise again in his throat. He was coming, John knew he was. Am I drunk? John's vision was swimming but not in the same way as it had been before. This felt like he'd been on a bender. Of course. The vodka. It would have had direct access to his bloodstream. Just great.

Sherlock unlocked the back door with ease and Greg reminded himself to buy a bolt lock for his office tomorrow. The inside was almost as he had imagined it would be, bar the flickering lights. They had no lights at all but the beam of the torch. It illuminated grubby walls with black streaks running down them and hard concrete floors. Sherlock swiveled the ray from side to side, showing the harsh reality of the hospital. Even through the tiny porthole windows in the doors Greg could see dentists chairs with straps on them surrounded by electrical equipment and it was hard not to think about the people who'd been forced to submit to shocks frying their brain simply because they were born with a disorder. Thinking about it, that was exactly what had happened to John earlier. Greg couldn't help but see his friend's face contorted in agony in his head. He shivered and resolved to look straight ahead. Sherlock was staring intently at the ground and when Greg followed his gaze he saw the footprints that had been left in the dust. They were in the right place then. Seemed like Sherlock had flawless instinct where John was concerned.

Greg gripped his gun as Sherlock opened the stairwell door and stepped soundlessly downward, avoiding every creaking step. Greg followed in his footsteps, hoping that the rest of the plan went as smoothly as this had. Sherlock had thought up five scenarios that ended in the gruesome death of one Sebastian Moran but none of them were feasible with Lestrade there. Even using John's gun would be frowned upon, but hopefully he'd turn a blind eye because it was John who had been injured. He wondered what Lestrade would say if he found out about the true identity of the Cabbie's murderer. At least Sherlock knew John. At the time John had known next to nothing about him and yet a man had died for even attempting to harm basement was even colder than the rest of the building and the windowless rooms all connected to each other. Sherlock flicked off the torch, mapping the compound in his head instead. John would be in the last room.

Just over fifteen minutes left to get him out. There was a noise, so soft that John would have dismissed it immediately if it hadn't been so very familiar. It was the sound of a belstaff coat brushing against suit pants. He'd heard it almost every day for over a year now and it was unmistakable. Sherlock was here. Sebastian hadn't noticed, or if he had he was blatantly ignoring it. For someone who had known Moriarty, Moran was not that bright. He'd chosen a room where his back would be to the door if he wanted to watch John or do pretty much anything else. Then again Moriarty had said that he wanted a pet, he had enough genius to occupy his time with Sherlock. Sebastian growled and ran his knife softly across John's neck, tracing lightly over the veins and pausing for a heartstopping moment on the jugular. His eyes rose, cold and empty, rolled meet John's as they had before in 221b and he pursed his lips before exerting more pressure, just enough for the blade to nick the skin beneath. "I would be very careful of my next move if I were you" a husky baritone voice rang out and before he knew it Sebastian was on his back, being beaten senseless by a furious Sherlock Holmes.

There was a brief moment right before he began that Sherlock thought Lestrade might actually attempt to stop him. That was before he saw Greg turn his back very deliberately on the man and focus his gaze entirely on John. Sherlock didn't waste any time, it took less than a minute for him to destroy Sebastian, having broken his nose and jaw and potentially blinded him in one eye, all without getting blood on his suit. As Greg went to cuff him he grabbed a knife and twisted out of his grip, trying to stab Sherlock. "Vatican Cameos" and Greg ducked as Sherlock had told him to in the car. A shot rang out. Sebastian toppled as a dark red stain spread from his chest. Greg watched as Sherlock freed and picked up his John lovingly, cradling his body against his own before dashing off. Greg pulled out his radio. " This is detective inspector Lestrade, requesting back up, suspect shot in self defense. Confirmed dead. Over" A voice crackled in response. He bent down and picked up the bracelet that was glinting at him.

Sherlock paid no heed to the ache in his arms as he ran to the exit with John. As he had planned the ambulance and police were waiting outside, clearly the texts had worked. He rushed John over to the gurney and softly laid him down. Doctors rushed about,hooking up an IV with blood and pain killers,swabbing his arm, stitching his abdomen, taking his vitals. "His breathing is faint, probably ribs. Better take him in." They were a matched set now, both killing someone for harming the other. Sherlock did not let go of his hand, even when they were driving to the hospital, and when they were taking the xray he held a leg. The doctors tried to get him to leave but Sherlock simply admitted the truth. "I love him." They left him be after that.

In John's room he sat next to the bed, watching him. His torso was covered in a white bandage, one for the cracked ribs and the other for the nine holes in his stomach. The doctors had been very clear that the burns would scar, indeed branding John with his military identity for life. The swelling in his face had gone down and John looked like himself again, if battered slightly more than he was used to. It was five am and Sherlock was exhausted. He lay his face next to John's hand on the bed and fell asleep almost instantly. John woke first, wincing slightly at the pain in his chest. Sherlock raised his head to look at John and he smiled weakly. John coughed and grinned back, grasping Sherlock's hand in his own.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked, swallowing nervously. John knew what he meant. "I thought for a while there that I wasn't going to make it" Sherlock nodded. "So did I." John pulled him closer. "Yeah, well while I was thinking that I realised something else. I thought I wouldn't get a chance to tell you, you probably know already, but I just think you should hear it from me. I love you Sherlock." John said, confident. He didn't blush or giggle, simply smiled up at the man he loved. "I love you too John."

**A/N You lot asked for a happy ending to that and therefore I obliged! Personally I wanted John to be okay too but it's better to ask just in case. So that's not the end, obviously ;) I have another question for you guys: How much longer should I make this fic? I mean, I have a good few ideas about what I can do but I just want to know how far I should take it, do you want it so long that we read till they die or just another few chapters? I'm open to either, I'm enjoying myself immensely and hopefully you are too! On a sidenote I have state exams next week and the week after (Yaaaaaaaay.) so I can't post for a good two weeks. Just thought you ought to know. Also I'd just like to thank you all for reviewing and stuff yet again, I don't tend to respond to reviews because I do this all on mobile and I can't, but I do read them and appreciate them ~S**


	15. Chapter 15

John loved him back. The words whirled around in his mind palace, filling his John room to bursting. He understood now why people felt the need to say it to each other. Sherlock had known how he felt about John and how John felt about him. It was in every word they spoke, everything they did for each other showed him that they loved one another, but this was so much more. It was confirmation that he was not alone, that he would never be alone again. He smiled down and brushed his hand lightly across John's cheek before leaning in and kissing him gently, careful not to hurt him.

The heart monitors jumped up and down excitedly until a nurse came in and tutted, telling Sherlock that he was interfering with the patient and would be removed. She plodded over to the IV and injected a sedative into it. John had half laughed half sighed into Sherlock's mouth and then broke away,apologizing to the nurse as he tried to get his pulse under control. Sherlock was trying to hide his smile and failing miserably. John hit him softly on the hand "It's not my fault you're so gorgeous! With your cheekbones and your collar all turned up so you look cool... Honestly! You'd think you were doing it on purpose!" he laughed staring at Sherlock again and reminding himself that he had said he loved him just a few short hours ago. "What?" Sherlock had noticed his stares clearly and John beamed. He didn't think he would stop smiling again for a long time. "You love me" he said, snuggling back into his pillows looking rather pleased with himself. "Yes I do" Sherlock said, stroking John's hair as he fell asleep.

Soon after that Mycroft and Greg arrived, Using their ID's to gain access as John had once back in Baskerville. "Well?" Sherlock asked Greg, knowing that the answer would be the right one. "Dead. I'll have to take your statement, and John's too. Bloody paperwork" This time Sherlock would bring John with him to do the paper work, even if he had to carry him asleep. "I have had some people update the security in your flat. Nothing major, no cameras but an incident like this will beverages happen again." Mycroft added, spinning his umbrella around in his hands. Nervous. "How is he?" Greg asked, openly concerned. He had seen the injuries briefly when Sherlock had picked John up but they had been unclear, covered by his army uniform. Sherlock hardened visibly, obvious detachment techniques.

"Nine holes in his stomach made by the nails caused extensive muscle damage but his body already began repairing it when we drove here. The scars from that will fade. The bruising on his face has already subsided significantly and will continue to do so. Two of his ribs have cracked so breathing will be difficult as will moving. The burns on his arm will scar and will most likely remain on his body for his life." Lestrade grimaced and reached into his pocket, gagging slightly when he touched the skin that had welded onto the metal. "Here, thought he might want these back for some reason." Sherlock took the bracelet and looked at it, inspecting how much more significant it had become. The metal now held small pieces of John in it. He put it on the bedside table.

"When are we allowed to leave without breaking out?" Sherlock asked Mycroft, his hand falling into John's as he felt his body tense on the bed - nightmare. "The end of the week is the earliest, John's ribs need to repair fully before they can let him leave." Sherlock pouted. He hated hospitals with their stupid rules and incompetent staff, sick people were better off at home where they could die in peace. "Hm. If there are any interesting cases you know where to find me. I'm sure John will be thrilled to learn of your visit." He was making an effort to dismiss people in a more kindly manner especially since these two people in particular had been of assistance with obtaining John. Thankfully they took the hint and left, allowing Sherlock to rest his head next to John's chest and fall asleep to the steady thrum of his heart.

John woke with a start, and was surprised to find he was in a dark hospital room, but not the same one he had dreamt of. He was shaking slightly and began doing the breathing exercises that Ella has taught him all that time ago. They didn't help. The dark was so heavy and he could feel the fear in his chest along with the pain in his ribs. "John?" Sherlock's soothing baritone came from somewhere near his arm and John reached out to find the soft curls at his fingertips. "You're in the hospital John, it's ok. Moran is dead. I made sure of that" Sherlock was stroking his hand lightly, waiting for his rational mind to catch up with him. "You can't be comfortable, come on." John scooted over in the bed and Sherlock decided it was better not to argue that now John would be uncomfortable because he knew that this was really a strange way of John asking him to make himself present, that way John would feel safer. Sherlock was proud that he could do that, make John feel safe. He clambered into the bed and wrapped his arms gently around John, avoiding putting much pressure on him. John melted against his body, relieved that Sherlock hadn't made a fuss. He just needed to know that he was began humming softly, a tune that John was very familiar with. It was the same one he played at night when they had first met and John had woken up from his nightmares screaming. This music had soothed him every time until he fell back to sleep. The vibrations of each note rumbled through John and he slowly fell asleep again.

When Greg arrived in the morning with paperwork and coffee he whipped out his phone and took a picture of the two of them wrapped up in each other, with John smiling into Sherlock's chest and Sherlock's head drooped onto John's own. Only when he was satisfied with the shot did he wake Sherlock up. Sherlock was a true genius most of the time but the morning, first thing after waking, was his only exception. Sherlock rubbed his eye and yawned, snuggling into John even more before speaking to Lestrade with his eyes closed "What's goin on?" He asked blurrily and Greg had a disturbing vision of Sherlock in airplane covered pyjamas carrying a blankie around with him. "I brought paperwork and coffee. I think coffee should go first." Sherlock rubbed his eyes and sat up by degrees, careful to stay very still lest he dislodge John from his position. Greg thrust the cup into his hands and waited until he was actually awake before handing him the papers and a pen. Lestrade had his own work to do, and they sat there together, the only noises were the light scratch of pen on paper, the whirring and beeping of machines and John's breathing. It was almost exactly the same situation they had been in when John had been taken in the first place. Sherlock couldn't help but wonder that if the outcome of their mission had been different, would he even be here at all? Maybe he would. He'd have been in the ER or the morgue by now surely, because there was no way he would have stayed after losing John. He wouldn't have had any reason to live anymore. How John had changed him.

Eventually Greg left to do his "real job" and left them alone again. When John awoke he looked around and groaned "Are we still here? I'm a doctor, give me the equipment and I can take care of myself at home. I honestly thought you'd have broken us out by now" Sherlock smirked and shuffled off the bed, allowing John to stretch out fully again. "Unfortunately I have to wait at least another day or two before it's even close to being acceptable, Mycroft said the end of the week but I sincerely hope you don't plan on staying here that long regardless." John frowned and tilted his head to the side "A week is too long, let's just go home soon as we can." Sherlock nodded and began reading the paper to John who smiled happily as he listened to Sherlock's voice. Two days passed like that, with Sherlock reading to John and solving cold cases together, watching crap telly and sleeping curled up in one another, falling asleep to the sound of Sherlock's voice. On the morning of the fourth day John woke to find Sherlock pulling on his coat. "John we're going home."

**A/N hey guys so it's officially summer for me now that the exams are over so it should 9hopefully) be back to regular updating every weekend! This is kind of a filler chapter just to settle you all backdown after the whole kidnapping thing, it will be a lot less intense from now on (mostly. I think...) so thanks for everything again, it seems like most people are happy for this to keep going for a while so don't expect it to be over any time sooon -S**


	16. Chapter 16

John hobbled from the cab to the door, getting steadily paler as he walked. Sherlock waited for him, knowing that he would not take kindly to being coddled nor would he enjoy being left in the dust. A very delicate balance to be maintained. There was, however, a limit to how much he would actually allow John to endure just for prides sake. That limit was fast approaching as he pushed open the door to 221. Mrs Hudson heard them come inside and bustled out to see how her boys were doing. "John dear you look very pale, are you sure you're supposed to be home now?" she asked, brushing nonexistent dust from his shoulders. "I'm fine Mrs Hudson, no need to worry, I just need some rest." Sherlock could feel him wilting and casually moved closer, making John lean against him. It was difficult to bite his tongue and not tell Mrs Hudson to leave them alone but when the old woman caught his eye she nodded and retreated almost instantly. "You take care of him Sherlock, I'll bring up some stew later for you both." She padded back into 221a and smiled slightly to herself. Her boys did make quite the pair.

Sherlock slowed his pace significantly as they ascended the stairs to ensure John leaned against him adequately, it was unlikely that he would be in a position to support his own weight for much longer. Statistically speaking if John were to fall Sherlock would have a 45% chance of catching him without causing injuries to either of them. It would be better not to let that happen he decided as they finally reached the last few steps. "John if you're about to lose consciousness I should be made aware" John hummed "Right well I eh blacking out" John garbled out as he toppled over, blue and purple lights exploding in the sea of black behind his eyes. Sherlock reacted as fast as he ever had and managed to grab John before he hit the floor. "Carrying it is then" he muttered. After all John was not awake to feel undignified. Sherlock picked him up and carried him bridal style to his own room, it had become theirs anyway. John opened an eye and looked around. The world looked very different than it had a few minutes ago. "Are you... Carrying me?" Sherlock grinned "Not for much longer. I'm putting you to bed." John sighed and nestled into Sherlock and his coat. "Might as well enjoy it so." As Sherlock placed him gently between the sheets John locked his hands into the lapels of Sherlock's coat. "Stay, you need sleep, I need sleep, want company" John added from his place in the pillows. Sherlock rolled his eyes and yet began taking off his shoes and outer layers.

John was unconscious already, the calm of sleep smoothing out the lines of his face. Sherlock simply lay awake, combing through his mind palace. Try though he may, there were some memories that refused to be ousted from his domain and the recent ordeal was one of them. Sebastian Moran would join Sebastian Wilkes in the south tower, far from any other memories,or rather from any decent ones. The grass that surrounded that particular tower housed many graves, and was littered with needles and other memorabilia from dark nights in dark alleys. The sky above was always grey, dull and lifeless in that sector, as if the barbed wire on the ground had somehow met the sky and cordened it off. When he did venture there the visit was without fail brief and unpleasant. It was a dumping ground for the stubborn memories that he would like to be gone and while there were not that many memories preserved there, they were generally considered frightful in nature. This new one involving John was most vexing. Sherlock was all for danger, but knowing that he was the reason Sebastian had known where John was shed a new light on everything. He was a danger to John and that was unacceptable, John would get hurt by his side. Maybe it would be better in the long run to save him from all that now, to cut all ties? Sherlock thought about it, then dismissed it with a growl. He was much too selfish to do that. John deserved better.

When he eventually returned to the outside world John was on the verge of waking. Noiselessly Sherlock glided to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. Mrs Hudson had snook in while they had been in bed because the fridge was bursting with food. John had a particular liking for her stews so he selected one of them and heated it while stirring the tea. Sherlock was glad for the second time that day that they had gravitated to his bedroom over John's. While he had good balance, he did not want to test that while carrying a tray laden with hot things up a stairs. John yawned and stretched out briefly before wincing almost imperceptibly and rolling away to make room for the other, who left the tray down on the bedside table. Sherlock stretched out beside him and then pulled the tray between them. "I get tea and everything! Ladies and gentlemen you have the privilege of witnessing a historic event, the great Sherlock Holmes has made me tea, and this time he hasn't tried to poison it! You haven't right?" John laughed, addressing a nonexistent crowd. "It was for the case John! Besides it wasn't the sugar anyway and I remember it being coffee. Now eat the stew Mrs Hudson made, it should be the correct temperature at this stage..." In the blink of an eye, Sherlock had one pale finger immersed in the bowl of stew, the next second it was in his mouth with all the juice being licked off.

He was already half smiling at John's good natured irritation. "Yes alright I think I'll be okay, hand it over." Grinning, Sherlock picked up a spoonful and blew on it gently before coaxing the spoon into John's mouth. "Don't want you to burn yourself again now do we?" John blinked in confusion and surprise but did not make any more to take the spoon away from Sherlock who had ended up straddled across his knees. He wondered what exactly was going on to merit this kind of attention, not that he was complaining, because he most definitely wasn't, but it felt like something was off, wrong in some way. When the bowl was nearly empty and his stomach was fit to burst, John held up a hand and pushed the spoon away. "Sherlock? What's going on? I enjoy being... Taken care of I suppose, but this isn't like you so what's up?" Sherlock stared. Eyebrows furrowed slightly: concern, Fifteen degree tilt of head to right side: confusion. "Sherlock? Still there?" John waved a hand in front of his face. "What? Oh, yes. Just want you to be well rested, there will be cases that need solving and I intend both of us to be there solving them, therefore you need to be fed and rested so your recovery is fast tracked, obviously. Shall I put this in the kitchen?" Sherlock gestured to the bowls and tray. "Might as well, but leave the tea. Oh and Sherlock?"

Sherlock gathered up the used utensils and was just leaving when John called out. "Yes John?" John smirked. "I saw the table on the way in. Apology accepted, although I'm sure Mrs Hudson will be adding to our rent for that. Sometimes I wonder how many ways you can find to melt our furniture... Don't even think about it." He added, seeing the glint of a new experiment in Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock pouted, mouth drooping. John sighed and shook his, head, a slight smile playing on his lips. "We have to buy a new table anyway... Just contain it to the table okay?" "Okay!" Sherlock scrambled out of the room. "And you're buying the new one Sherlock!" John yelled, still smiling. "Yes dear now go back to sleep!" Sherlock retorted from the kitchen, preparing for the second time in his life to melt furniture, the first time had been an accident and he hadn't got a chance to catalogue the results. This would be fun.


	17. Chapter 17

Resilience was one of John's more useful traits and thanks to it he was fully functional again after a few days in bed. At his check up the doctor had been totally baffled by the speed of it, his ribs were healed entirely, the holes sealed up and scarring nicely. Even the brand on his shoulder had become just that- a brand. No blisters left and there was no sign of infection, Sherlock had been diligent in making sure John was cleaning and bandaging it every day. He still had not seen the blackened words himself, but that was mote self preservation than anything else. Seeing everything, connecting the dots, it wasn't something he would enjoy doing with this wound. He didn't really want to know the time it had taken to burn the flesh, which letters had the flame behind them for the longest, where it had been pressed in and pulled off. He had been waiting for it to be healed sufficiently that seeing it would be ok. Doctor Stapleton removed her stethescope and shrugged. "Alright Dr Watson you're healthy as a horse! Keep disinfecting your shoulder for another few days and you'll be in the clear infection wise. I hope I don't see you again too soon" She smiled kindly at him and wandered off, waving absent mindedly to him as she went.

Sherlock popped his head around the curtain and smiled. "Ready to go?" John stood and picked his jumper up off the floor. "Yeah, you heard? We don't have to come back!" Sherlock smiled broadly. He really did hate hospitals, so poorly run, full of contagious people who were completely boring and doctors telling you what to do, even if you already have a better idea than they do. "I heard, it's a curtain John, not a wall." John chuckled "Why were you behind it in the first place? Was it my" John pulled a suggestive face and gestured towards himself "irresistible body?" He caught Sherlock's eye and they both laughed, Sherlock shaking his head and grabbing John's hand. "Come on, we've got things to do today. Namely find a new table" John pushed open the door, and sighed in the fresh air. It felt amazing to just feel healthy again, like he could chase down a criminal through the back streets of London at any time. If people knew that was what went through his head he'd be sent to the nut house. "Right then, where to?"

Sherlock went perfectly still for a minute, using his extensive knowledge of London to find a shop,giving John the chance to stare at him for a bit. He really was like a marble statue, and if he didn't have clothes on there was no reason people would think he wasn't one besides his hair. It amazed him still that they were together. "Got it!" That was it and they were snaking through the streets, dodging through crowds of people and cars, twisting through back alleys until they were deep into the heart of London town. These streets were quieter, cobbled, the whole place had an air of olden times, like it had been transported straight from the Victorian era to the 21st century. It was breathtaking, and the people who roamed the streets were dedicated, they all knew precisely where they were going. Sherlock seemed at ease, more so than he did almost anywhere else. The winding street eventually opened out into a shop lined avenue and Sherlock turned in, pushing through the door of a nameless building. John followed tentatively, blinking hard as his eyes got used to the dark of it after the brightness of the street.

It was an antique shop, wooden and cosy and filled with all manner of items, all covered in a thin layer of dust. At first glance it was a haphazard arrangement of furnishings and books but if you walked through it as they were now, you travelled further through time with each step. The air smelled homely, lived in, with subtle hints of wood varnish and typing ink. "Well I'll be, Sherlock Holmes is that you?" from behind a curtain came an old man, stooped low over a walking stick, eyes magnified to huge orbs by thick lenses in his glasses. "Hello Edgar. John this is Edgar, he runs this establishment. Edgar this is John my... My John." The old man gave a toothless grin and appraised John, who was rather rooted to the spot. Sherlock was being friendly, genuinely friendly. "Hello Edgar, you have a great shop here" John extended a hand and shook the gnarled fingers of the fuzzy haired man before him. "I did say to you that someone would come along and be just right for you didn't I? Ex-military too that's interesting. I've heard all about your blog John, riveting stuff, although I bet he's always at your throat for leaving out a few of the more nitty gritty deductions." He smiled fondly at Sherlock who shuffled his feet, as if his teacher had caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to. John chuckled "You're a genius too I take it?" Edgar winked and beckoned for them to come sit down by the register in the chintz chairs that surrounded it. "Can't stay on my feet too long these days, I'm getting on you know. Yes back in the day I was considered genius, of course not on the scale of Sherlock here, but genius none the less." Sherlock scoffed fondly and turned to John. "I met Edgar soon after I got clean, his shop became something of a haven for me, In fact I had read every tome in this shop by the time I became a real consulting detective." Edgar nodded, leaning back in his chair. "It was nice to have some company that could host a decent conversation, or even just to read silently with. Although you were a young man then, barely out of school. We learned a lot from each other I think. Even to this day you and that brother of yours are the only other people I've met that compare to myself intellectually. No cause for false modesty, that's the truth. In all my years, you are the first person who has taught me something I couldn't have taught myself or that I hadn't already learned. School was a bit of a bust as you can tell, most teachers didn't take to kindly to my being smarter than them, but Sherlock knows all about that." he snorted , wizened body shaking with silent laughter. "His ego's big enough without you telling him that he taught you things, he'll be insufferable for weeks!" John winked and Sherlock gave him a shove, noting the amused twinkle in Edgar's eyes.

"Now, what type of table are you looking for? I have a couple that you might like" Edgar clomped deeper into the shop and the couple followed after him. "This will explain why someone so brilliant became a shop keeper." They were at the back wall before John realised, he had focused on the things he was passing rather than the destination. Persian rugs, Mahogany armoirs, jewel encrusted trinkets, chaise longues and a host of other intriguing items that had him feeling like he was walking through the cave from Aladdin. "Pine, from the 1930's, Fire retardant, admittedly the carvings are a bit on the morbid side, skulls and crows on the vines but I think it suits you. Plus all the detail is in the legs, so if the top gets scorched or melted again you can just replace that and keep the original legs." John was speechless, it was a perfect fit for them, practical and well built with a side of mystery and danger. "You're bloody brilliant Edgar! I can see why this job would be good for you." Edgar beamed and excused himself to call his grandson who worked with him as a truck driver who did the heavy lifting and delivered goods to all clients.

"Edgar is lovely" John said casually as he rifled through a box of vinyls. "I didn't mention him because I had no cause to. I haven't heard from him in six years, I became increasingly busy with the work and his great grandchildren were being born. He is more of a grandfather to me than a friend, if that's what you're getting at. As I told you I don't have friends I only have one." John shrugged, looking bemused. "I wasn't commenting on anything, just remarking that he's a nice guy. I'm not surprised I hadn't heard of him, the past isn't exactly our most interesting point of conversation and it doesn't bother me either way, as long as you're happy I'm happy" Smirking at the confused frown on Sherlock's face, John pressed a soft kiss on his lips "I'll be outside, going to order some dinner before we get home, at least then the wait will feel shorter. Come out when you're done" With another kiss John was gone, the bell on the door signaling his departure.

Edgar shuffled out and handed Sherlock a receipt for the table, he had gotten Sherlock's account number all those years ago, and never deleted it. "Can I tell you something sonny?" Sherlock nodded, secretly pleased that Edgar thought of him as part of the family. "If you asked him, he'd say yes, and mean it. Sure you've only been a couple for half a year, but this is for the long haul, don't you ever doubt that. If you asked, he would say yes. I guarantee it, same as I guaranteed there would be a him to ask." Sherlock grinned at him, it was easy to forget that there was someone who could read him in the room. "You think so? We only admitted that we loved each other last week, is it not too soon?" Edgar put a hand on his shoulder and turned so they faced the photo of his wedding day. "When I proposed, I had known Jean for three weeks. That was it. We both knew, like you and John did, that we loved and were loved by each other without having to say it, knew after two days. There's no rush, I'm just telling you that you don't need to worry about it because when the time comes he'll say yes." Sherlock gave him an awkward sort of hug before pulling back and starting to make his way to the door. "Thank you Edgar, for everything." Edgar laughed, and patted his hand "You're always welcome sonny. Remember this when you're sending out the invitations. Now off you go, John's waiting." Edgar waved off the young couple and felt a warmth in his stomach that he had not felt in a long time as he saw their hands intertwine. "I wish you were here to see it Jeanie, someone who loves Sherlock just as much as he deserves." He smiled wryly at their wedding photo, standing proudly among his children's. The look of pure happiness between each couple was something he had prayed would be shown to each of his children and especially the one he had taken under his wing six years previously.

John swung their hands between them as they strolled back to the high street and chaos of familiar London. "For someone so old he seems very open minded. My grandparents disowned Harry the moment they found out she was gay."

Sherlock squeezed his hand and looked back at the shop front fading into the horizon, eyes clouding with memories. "He just wants people to be happy regardless of whom they find that happiness with. As long as both parties are truly happy he has nothing but good wishes for them." Sherlock listened to John tell stories of his family, nostalgia piqued by interacting with Edgar. Sherlock could only smile, because Edgar had never been wrong about him before, and now that he was confident of the response, he began to plan when he would propose to his beloved John.

**A/N The timeline is very messy, it seems like they've been together all of a week but realistically that would be insane, so much has happened already between them so 6 months seems about right. If you're trying to imagine Edgar, think the man who repairs toys in Toystory 2. So yeah, he's thinking about proposing! I have a few ideas for that and I think they're pretty cute so be prepared for fluff galore for the next while! On a side note guys this fic has over 70 followers and almost half of you have favourited it too! Thank you so much it's completely insane that you're all reading this so yeah thanks. A big shout out to my regular reviewers: janie17, Christine Eponine, serenityofthematrix,AngelD123,OnlyLove13,starrysum mernights and everyone else who has been reviewing!**


	18. Chapter 18

A few issues arose in Sherlock's mind as he contemplated the actual reality of marriage. The first was his lack of religion, John believed in a God of some sort, after all he had asked them to save his life in Afghanistan. He supposed that it wouldn't matter to him where they got married, even if that meant going to a church or if they ended up in a registry office. John probably wouldn't mind either, he was easy going about most things so this should not be any different. Of course this would mean meeting John's family which he did not look forward to in the slightest. The prospect of having to try and impress them was not exactly tantalizing. People didn't like him, he didn't like people and that was all fine. John's family however would eventually become his extended family and being on bad terms with them would not make John very happy (even if his own relationship with his family was strained). Probably best not to meet his grandparents either if they were still alive if their reaction to Harry was anything to go by. Not that their opinions would sway his decision to ask at the very least. Then again John might not want his family to meet Sherlock, in fairness he wasn't exactly the type of person you bring home to your parents. It seemed lucky now in hindsight that Mummy had made them stay with her for a weekend, at least that was out of the way, she completely approved and even liked John. There was no way he could keep this a secret from Mycroft, but he could be trusted to keep a secret, he was made of secrets after all. It would be better to tell him than to wait for his lackeys to say something, they had only really repaired their tenuous relationship recently and jeopardizing that was not the best idea.

He wondered if John would want to get married right away, or if they would have a long engagement. He never thought that any of this would cross his mind but there it was, completely unexpected, just like John. He peered at John over his laptop and smirked at his sleep rumpled demeanor and grinning toothily when he tried to sit at the table absent mindedly only to realise it wasn't there any more. John simply shook his head at his own stupidity and went to make tea instead. He would find however that there were no teabags left, he hadn't been shopping since his stint in the hospital and the cabinets and by extension John were being harshly affected by this emptiness. He heard the sigh and clatter of the press being closed that always signified John's hasty visit to the shops.

"I'm going to the shop when I'm dressed, anything you want?" John called out from his room. Sherlock had to bite back the retort he was about to call back, telling John that he wanted him gone so that he could do some research on proposing wouldn't really suffice. "Nothing in particular." Although John had been asleep he had been too wary of him waking to start his research. John reappeared fully dressed and stooped to Sherlock's level on the couch, smiling ther light kiss to Sherlock's cheek. Which Sherlock promptly returned, and then John repeated the action, and Sherlock followed suit until they were lip locked and John's hands had carded themselves through his hair. Sherlock pulled back just slightly, whispering between increasingly intense surges "The shopping John, you'll want tea later and not be able to have any, you can have me any time, all the time" John sighed contentedly and rose, caressing Sherlock's cheek softly before leaving.

Sherlock made the skull promise not to tell anyone how long he had sat there reliving the feeling of John's hands on his face before he started into the research. Eight and two third minutes was far too many to be considered anything less than entirely sad. As soon as he snapped out of his selfindulgent wanderings he began with a list.

**1: Ring - although given John's aversion to jewellery apart from his bracelet that may not be an easy task, must be imbued with sentiment and more so than usually is by such items, see other options**  
**2: Speak with Mycroft directly about plans - though a text will suffice**  
**3: Get advice from self professed romantic Molly Hooper **  
**4: Ask Mrs Hudson's opinion - and to leave the building on the chosen date**  
**5: Trawl through John's room in mind palace**  
**6: Choose date and location etc. - figure out what to say**  
**7: Propose**  
**8: Broach subject of last name - Watson Holmes? **

He decided to start with number five, it being the simplest and undoubtedly the most useful at this point in time. Oh John, such a wonderful room to be in, even though there are shadows lurking in this room of light, times of fear and disappointment and mortal peril, nothing can cloud the wonder that is John Hamish Watson. Every moment they have spent together, from strangers to friends to lovers to now is rifled through for ideas, it would be fasted if he didn't keep lingering, memories of long nights entwined and heady kisses were very distracting. Still nothing very useful came of it. "Something important... Something symbolic... Something oh yes! That would work! Paired with the, I am a genius!" Sherlock yelled, startling several birds. Now all he had to do was find a way to get it done. It was time for a little chat with Mycroft.

John wandered around Tesco, enjoying the menial task more than he had in a long time. No one had ever tried to kill him while he did the shopping. Yet. A small clatter behind him made him turn around to see a chuckling Edgar throw some milk into his basket. "Hello Edgar" he said with a smile, waiting for the older man to get into step with him. "Hello again John, how are you?" They walked side by side, chatting away, only stopping occasionally to pick something up. "How are things with Sherlock?" John thought of that morning when he tried to leave "Good, really good. Brilliant actually." Edgar winked knowingly at him and then grinned wildly "Do I have to ask or can we both just assume that I know?" John chuckled "That obvious is it?" He sincerely hoped it wasn't. If Edgar could tell then so to could Sherlock and that would take all the fun it of it. "I don't think he's looking for it, He has no idea. When did you decide you were going to propose?" John thought about it, hard. Then it struck him. "It was soon after meeting you, actually. I remembered something and realised that I wanted to ask him." John could still see it, when he had been bleeding out in the psychiatric hospital and all he could focus on was Sherlock, and when he passed out he had hallucinated Sherlock sitting waiting for him, but he had hallucinated Sherlock wearing a ring. It didn't matter at the time, he didn't even notice it. But after meeting Edgar it just came to him. That was what he wanted. Edgar beamed, causing his wrinkled face to become even more wrinkled. "Well I wish you every happiness John." "Thanks, now all he has to do is say yes" They were already at the check out and Edgar picked up his bags. He smirked, like he was in on a secret that John didn't know and nodded "Now all he has to do is say yes. I'll see you soon John, your table should have arrived while you were here." John waved him off and returned to his shopping, hoping he could find some way to make his appointment with the jeweler without Sherlock ever knowing. He'd wait until Sherlock went to the morgue, that would be the perfect opportunity to slip away and be back before Sherlock even realised he was gone.

In the end Sherlock didn't have to text Mycroft because the man appeared on John's armchair miraculously when Sherlock returned from his room. "I'd say I was surprised but you always appear when John gets the shopping. Is it on the off chance that he brings home cake?" Sherlock asked dryly, plopping himself down onto the couch. Mycroft gave him a look "I hear John has fully recovered from last week. I came to see for myself but apparently he's not here." Sherlock glowered at his self satisfied smirk. "I'm thinking of proposing" he said casually, though his stomach had tied itself into a very irritating knot. Even still he craved the approval of his brother. "Proposing what?" Mycroft asked, and Sherlock was dumbfounded once more by the strangeness of them both just as he had been when The woman had supposedly died. "Marriage Mycroft. Proposing marriage to John." The carefully constructed mask Mycroft wore shattered and his eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Really?" Sherlock nodded. "Congratulations brother." Mycroft shuffled in his seat and Sherlock restarted the flow of information he would usually get from people. Dark circles under eyes: late nights, Slight movement of neck: Slept on uncomfortable surface- couch, Mused hair: worry. Problem with Lestrade, caused by Mycroft. Most likely due to being closed off and resorting to insults or indifference to protect own feelings. "We deserve good things too Mycroft, there's nothing wrong with wanting them." Mycroft smiled wryly at him and fiddled with the top of his umbrella. "Thank you Sherlock. Now tell me your plan of action." And he did. By the end Mycroft was smirking and had made arrangements for the first part of his plan. "I'll have an assistant bring them round to you when John is otherwise occupied.I'll bid you adieu then Sherlock. Be in touch." and he slunk off, the door just about closed when Tony, Edgar's grandson arrived. With Sherlock's assistance they maneuvered the table upstairs and settled it into the familiar spot. He was gone almost as soon as he had arrived, and Sherlock sat back, content that his plan was in motion, and texted Molly, telling her he'd be in the morgue tomorrow. He was going to get that advice one way or another.

John made an appointment at the only jewelers he knew for the next day, hoping that Molly would have something for Sherlock to occupy himself with. He was confident that his idea was a good one, and hummed happily to himself as he ascended the stairs to 221b. He was unsurprised to find Sherlock in the same position he had been when he'd left and smiled at the look of concentration on his face. Carrying the shopping into the kitchen he stood back and admired the table that sure enough had been delivered while he was out. When everything was unpacked he flopped into his chair and smiled at Sherlock who raised a brow. "We should christen our new table" Sherlock smirked "That could be taken a variety of ways John, and only one of them involves food. Well, two of them could if you're feeling up to that..." He grinned cheekily and John was up out of his seat and grabbing Sherlock's hand, pulling him into him."I like the way you think Sherlock. But no food, I was sticky for days after the last time."

**A/N Edgar is like a little engagement wizard I swear, magically convincing them both to propose to each other! So now they're both planning in parallel! Any speculation as to what their super secret proposal plans are? I don't think you'll guess it Thanks for all the positive feedback, it's really nice to hear that you guys like it!**


	19. Chapter 19

It arrived almost five days later, a wooden crate that looked, as per request, deceptively like it contained a live animal. That was why, when he signed for the package, John didn't dare open it, fearing whatever venomous creature would lie inside. That was exactly what Sherlock had hoped would happen because if he had have opened it, well firstly a dead cobra would have met him, but beneath that was a box and contained within that box were two items that Sherlock was very very pleased with. They were tailored to his exact specifications and he appreciated for once the power his brother had to do such things. When John left to do whatever it was he was doing, Sherlock opened the box. The black velvet box was cast to one side, he would inspect that in a minute. It was the other thing that he was interested in.

John was very pleased at the moment that Sherlock didn't pay attention to his comings and jewelers appointment had gone very well, Sherlock had actually planned to go to the morgue anyway and John has been there and back before Sherlock had even thought about going home. It had been pretty quick, mainly because he knew precisely what he wanted. Well mostly, the ring had been a difficult enough decision but the other thing, that had been easy. The women who ran the shop had been very accommodating, flirting heavily with him though he was obviously not available and they even knew that Sherlock was a man, still didn't stop them from trying. He was going back to pick up his special order. The younger of the two seemed to understand him a whole lot better than most people, especially the not gay thing. He'd expected that people would just assume that he was gay, and he didn't have any issue with that, but she seemed to just know that men, aside from one tall, dark, handsome genius did nothing for him. It was a nice change to have someone see it the way it was. She was who he was going to meet with that afternoon. "Molly?... Melissa?... Margaret?... Mary? Mary. That's it, Mary Morstan." he muttered to himself as he walked briskly to the shop. It would have been very embarrassing not to know her name, but in truth he was having trouble remembering the names of ordinary people these days, they all just seemed to blur together. "Aaand now I'm becoming Sherlock because that's all we need. Two Sherlock's." he chuckled at the thought. One was quite enough. He caught Mary's eye as he walked past the window and she waved him in, grinning. "Hello again John" she smiled as he entered. "Hello Mary" John laughed as she lead him to her consultation desk at the back of the shop. She sat him down and disappeared behind the counter, returning with two boxes. "Here we go then, which one do you want to see first?"

Sherlock picked up the navy material and smirked slightly, it was the same exact pigment as his own, which was what he had been going for. The scarf was soft and durable, and Sherlock could see John wearing it and thinking of him. On the inside neck so as not to be ostentatious, were the letters JHWH monogrammed in an even darker blue. John Hamish Watson Holmes did have a nice ring to it after all. He hoped John would like it, it was a private but public display of his affection for the man and John would appreciate the sentiment. His scarf was the one thing he never left without, it was a comfort and a constant in his life, and he was bestowing that onto John. Sherlock wrapped the scarf around his neck and went on with his day, experimenting with the cobra venom that he had extracted from his decoy and some arms he'd gotten from Molly. When he had finished he removed the scarf, knowing that it would smell like him now and put it back into the box, eyes locking on to the ring box he'd cast aside earlier.

Mary opened the larger of the two boxes and handed the chain to John. He smiled at it, spreading it out in his palm so he could reason the words on the dog tags. Sherlock Watson Holmes, his blood type and date of birth were all emblazoned in the metal. On the back, just because he could, it read property of John Watson Holmes. In truth John had thought that choosing a last name for them was a bit forward but it sounded like it was supposed to be that way, it sounded right. "These are perfect Mary, exactly what I wanted" he beamed and she beamed back, happy that they had done well. "Will we take a look at the ring then?" John nodded, praying that the resize had gone well. He'd had to measure Sherlock's finger while he was asleep to get it just right. Mary opened the box and spun it around for him to see inside. He'd chosen white gold, Sherlock was so pale that gold would have looked strange, white gold was mysterious and glowed with an ethereal quality which had drawn John to it in the first place. The ring itself was a plait almost of three thin strands of white gold with tiny diamonds embedded in the gaps, nearly hidden from view except in the light of the sun or moon. Despite looking delicate and breakable it was actually one of the sturdiest rings available, something that would definitely be a plus for Sherlock. "Thank you so much Mary, I don't know what I'd have done without you" Mary blushed slightly at the praise and shrugged "It was nothing honestly, I'm glad you like it. Will I bag them for you or do you want to just put them in your pocket, you know, plausible deniability at least if he looks." John smirked, she had read his blog, had told him so when he first came to the shop. It was pretty surreal to meet someone who had read it and liked it. "Pockets for me I think, even if the bag didn't have the brand on it he'd deduce it from the handles or something" They giggled quietly and John pocketed the boxes. "It was great to meet you, I'll be back for a wedding ring hopefully" John joked as they strolled to the door and Mary chuckled "You better be mister, I'm not taking no for an answer" and John waved his goodbye before setting off home.

The ring Sherlock had gotten John was a simple gold band, with thin lines scratched into the surface of it. Most people would see it as maybe a type of Sanskrit or perhaps a lesser know branch of Arabic but in truth it was Tolkien's Elvish, something John would doubtless appreciate given his obvious adoration of the fantasy novel. If there was anything that John could be taunted with it would probably be his inherent love of 'nerd' culture - Dr. Who and Torchwood were the only two shows he would really watch and Sherlock didn't even try and disturb him anymore,missing them made him rather irritable, but even that endeared John to Sherlock, so much so that he had read all of Tolkien's works and accidentally learned Elvish, which he was going to delete until he had the idea of using it to engrave John's ring. The squiggly lines actually made the ring look rather similar to the ring of power from the series itself, although it didn't speak of ruling the world, but rather something much more sentimental. The engraving itself had been Molly's idea, she had always felt that a personal message to last a lifetime on someone's hand was incredibly romantic. Now that he saw it, he had to agree. Everyday John would glance down at his hand while doing ordinary mundane tasks like filling the kettle and he would see Sherlock's message and smile. The engraving read_ "Until the stars fade away and whatever we orbit combusts, Until there is no oxygen left, Until our transport is decayed and long since gone, Until we crumble to dust in the Earth, and even then, I'm yours._"It was lucky that Elvish letters were more like phrases and each line was so thin, his message covered the circumference of the ring entirely. He closed the box gently and popped it onto the scarf before folding it up and hiding the box from view and then he tucked it safely into his coat's inner pocket. He had everything arranged and a couple of hours from now he was going to do it. God this was nervewracking, the waiting that is, for John to come home and then for the right time to let him in on his plans except the obvious part. There was still that niggling doubt in the back of his mind, that John would reject him and bolt, just as he had feared he was going to when he first admitted his feelings to John in the middle of the night. He had to push past this, block it out as he used to with all his emotions.

John's key turned in the lock and Sherlock sat down abruptly at the table, bending over his microscope intently. If he had have been really looking, he would have noticed the slight bulge of John's pockets but he was a little bit too focused on his own to take it in. "I'm almost done with these, Molly has more at the morgue. Want to come along, shouldn't be too long and then we can have dinner." He called to John as he strode through the sitting room and into the kitchen. He flicked the kettle on for tea. "Sure, anywhere in mind?" Sherlock smirked to himself. "Yes" John simply sifted good naturedly, deciding not to press the issue. Besides he felt edgy enough as it was with the boxes in his pockets, and while he was attempting the practiced calm he had learned it did little to help him feel any less like Sherlock could see right through him. An hour later and Sherlock hopped up from his microscope, skittering about with nervous energy. John closed his laptop with a click and rose from his armchair as Sherlock pulled on his coat and scarf and trundled off down the stairs yelling back at him to come on. Grinning John took off after him and was greeted to a waiting taxi at the end of the road. "Seriously though Sherlock how do you do that? It's like you're a homing beacon for taxis!" John babbled as they squashed into the back, legs pressed right against each other. Both were secretly panicked behind a mask of calm, fearing that they would be found out. John cursed himself for putting them in his right hand pocket and Sherlock wished he had a right inside breast pocket to stash his in as well. The cab pulled up to 's and they alighted, heading straight to the morgue.

As they walked down the winding corridors Sherlock took John's hand in his. "I have a confession to make." John stared up at him, entirely confused. "I got Molly to bring dinner for us here before she left." John chuckled softly "She always did have a soft spot for you, do anything you asked that girl would." Sherlock snorted "She wouldn't go_ away_ now would she?" he joked lightly as he pushed the door to the lab open and flicked on the lights. John gaped at the sight that awaited him. The usually covered in equipment and other things he would rather not think about desk had been cleared and cleaned and covered in a table cloth. Two plates of food, still steaming lay waiting expectantly on it, separated by a candle. "Seems like Molly is bringing Angelo's to us, down to the candle" John beamed and Sherlock was proud that he had thought of this, it was a perfect combination of the two of the most important moments of their lives together. The setting was the place where they first met and had subsequently spent many long nights working on cases, dancing carefully around their feelings, With help from Molly he had brought the scene of their first date to them and all of the memories that came with it, and to top it all off Sherlock had avoided all cameras, so even Mycroft wouldn't know that this was happening before John did. "Shall we?" Sherlock said, smirking at John who returned the grin, he had uttered those words once before in a situation very similar to this. "How, exactly, did you convince Molly to let you do this? Won't we contaminate something?" John asked, looking around the room that was suspiciously clean and smelled of lemon. "Bribery John, she needed her lab cleaned, and I was more than happy to oblige because I needed it clean too." John rolled his eyes and smiled "You're welcome to bribe me any time, the flat definitely needs cleaning and you seem to be very good at it!" he winked before picking up a fork and stabbing a piece of what turned out to be mushroom ravioli. Sherlock picked at the meal, occasionally eating small bites of it and chatting to John about utter drivel to stop himself from babbling. John laughed openly at a story he was telling, Mycroft had been such an odd child and John loved to hear these stories. Sherlock knew that he would want to be the cause of that laughter for the rest of his life.

"John I..." he reached into his pocket and pulled out the scarf, still concealing the true nature of what was happening. "have something for you." he finished, laying it down in front of John who stared at him with surprised eyes. His heart was beating in his mouth and he was feeling less than confident that his meagre meal would stay down. "Open it" he whispered, voice gravelly. Was he shaking? John beamed up at him and began to unravel the scarf, and Sherlock had folded very precisely, if he was correct, the last layer before the box would be the monogrammed one. It was. "JHWH" John breathed "but what does the last -" Sherlock shushed him and peeled back the last layer himself. John looked down, eyes widening in recognition of what this was, what he was doing, and his mouth formed a small 'o' of surprise, and Sherlock was thankful once again that John's face was so readable, he could see the expectation, the surprise, the hope, the joy all playing out across his features and his heart surged. "John Hamish Watson. I suppose there are an abundance of things I could say to you, like how you showed me the world as I never saw it before, or how you restarted my heart and gave me a life, something to live for again, or how gloriously, wonderfully, perfectly impossible you are and how I can never hope to deserve you, but I don't think we have the time for that because it would take lifetimes to list all the reasons that I'm asking you this. I've settled on just one. I love you, John Watson, most ardently. Would you do me the honour of becoming my husband?" Sherlock had moved while he spoke, over to meet John on the other side of the desk.

John had tears in his eyes as he reached into his pocket and choked out a peal of laughter "I suppose now is a good time to give you these then" he handed the boxes across and Sherlock's eyebrows flew up, an earsplitting smile breaking out on his face as tears threatened to spill over. "John?" he asked and John understood what he meant. Sherlock needed to hear this, so unsure of it still. He stood up and took Sherlock's hand in his. "Sherlock Holmes. You have always been braver than I am, smarter than I am, a thousand times more beautiful than I could ever be, but no one would be more proud than I would be if you said yes. Somehow, out of all the people on earth I managed to find the one person I would happily spend my life with. If I could go back in time, to when I got shot, given the chance to change it, to save myself, I would do it a million times over, getting shot each time, just to be sure I would meet you again. I was so alone and I owe you so much, I owe you everything. And I love you Sherlock, more than anything else in the world I love you. Will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?" Sherlock's hands cupped his chin and he drew their faces together. "Well?" he asked, knowing the answer. "I do" John whispered. "I do" Sherlock answered and they slipped the rings onto each other's fingers before crushing their lips together with a fiery passion because his veins were singing, John was his fiancé.

John grabbed at his coat and tore it off, lust bright in his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his head he heard buzzing, like a phone going off but he ignored it, focusing instead on Sherlock presses up against him and ravaging his mouth. Sherlock ripped at John's shirt and John ripped at his, buttons pinging to the floor as their hands wandered over each other, wanting skin on skin. It was painfully hot and tight already in his suit and from the look of it John wasn't doing much better. The buzzing continued somewhere far off, muffled. Suddenly Sherlock gasped and reached behind John, picking up the scarf and wrapping it around his neck. "I want you wearing only this" he growled as he bit softly at John's ear. John gasped and shuddered, picking up the dog tags and spinning Sherlock around so he could clasp them around his neck. "Only those." John groaned, sucking a line along Sherlock's jaw while stepping out of his trousers with ease before sliding Sherlock's down too, setting hard flesh free from it's fabric prison. Sherlock moaned as the air hit him and he pushed John back against the door, stroking him fiercely and registering with some relief the end of the infernal buzzing noise. John reached down and mimicked Sherlock's motions, canting his hips in shaking jerks to increase the friction. John took control, forcing Sherlock's hands above his head and dropping to his knees. John licked from base to tip, focusing on the head before sucking Sherlock's length into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. Sherlock cried out his name and twisted his hands into his short hair, holding rather than controlling. John bobbed his head back and forth, swirling his tongue alone the glands and slit, holding Sherlock's thighs to stop him from moving. Sherlock was moaning with reckless abandon now, encouraging John to keep going harder and faster, the image of his new fiancé doing this was much more potent than he had expected.

The buzzing began anew and Sherlock, realising it was his phone grabbed it, answered the call yelled an angry "BUSY!" down the line and hung up, turning it off as he did. John laughed, the vibrations humming through Sherlock and he was off again, feeling the knot of fire in his stomach grow and his muscles tighten. He exploded into John's mouth, eyes rolling back in his head and it took a few minutes before he could open his eyes. When he did he lifted John from the floor and placed him on the desk, kneeling on the ground between his legs and grinned wickedly, grabbing the scarf and pulling him in for a deep kiss before taking John to the hilt in one fell swoop. John let out a strangled cry of what might have been his name and Sherlock began to suck, knowing John would not last long after his display minutes earlier. The wonderful sounds of John's moans were cut off by his phone ringing obnoxiously in his trousers and Sherlock decided that it would be fun to mess with John a bit, make him stew. He picked up the phone and answered it, then held it to John's ear. "John Sherlock won't answer his phone and we have a case that we need him for can you-" John put his fist in his mouth to hold back the sounds that were threatening to break free. "He's busy right now- Sherlock! Tomorrow." Sherlock could hear snippets of what Lestrade was saying and he decided to take matters into his own hands. He moved faster, sucking and licking until John was tense with the effort of holding back. With a sly wink Sherlock covered the mic of the phone and John came hard with a bellow of his name. Sherlock removed himself with a satisfying pop and licked his lips before bringing the phone back to his own ear. "Like I said we are_ very very_ busy and I'd appreciate you dealing with what is most certainly an uninteresting case with the hoard of baboons you employ. Have a lovely evening Detective, John and I assuredly will" The smile Sherlock gave was more akin to that of the cheshire cat than anything else. He flipped the phone off and swept around the room, still stark naked, picking up their discarded clothes and dropping them into John's lap. "As much as I hate asking you to get dressed" he eyed John's debauched body like an predator staking claim "I would prefer that we continue at home, wouldn't want any evidence of our presence to very left behind." John struggled into his trousers and coat, the shirt was a lost cause "Your wish is my command Mr Watson Holmes" John grinned as he slipped on his shoes and Sherlock did the same, both savoring the sound of what would be their new name. They were engaged, and life had never seemed so worthwhile until this moment, for either of them.

**A/N: Y'all realise that this is literally the longest single chapter I've ever written? It's looooong, surprisingly so because at first it wasn't flowing and then boom all the words! I think nerdy!John is adorable, plus I just couldn't resist the lotr references. We'll have some ring/dogtag appreciation next chapter because I reckon that it'll be everyone finding out that they're engaged and stuff so yeah never fear! As for the whole scarf/dogtags I think that they would have wanted to give the other something really personal as well as a ring because a ring is kind of a given but they're relationship means more to both of them than they ever imagined and so yeah gifts! Hope you liked it! On a side note if you follow my other Johnlock fic (50 johnlock fics) I apologise for the lack of updates but this plus a heatwave have totally consumed my time, plus a reader asked for me to write the proposal and I have to think of another scenario and what they say etc. so that's why that is. Hehehe casually throwing a Mary into the mix but no worries, she totally ships it too ;) I thought I should mention (bit late but hey) that this is all unbeta'd so all the innumerable mistakes are purely my own laziness but if you're confused feel free to pm or comment about it! Thanks again for all the support ~S**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N And I thought the last one would be the longest chapter I ever wrote for this fic... I would have uploaded at the weekend but my family was over etc etc. For the phone calls towards the end, Sherlock and John's parts will be in regular font, the other person will be in bold. Enjoy!**

John opened one eye and reminded himself that he was on the floor of 221b with a very clingy Sherlock draped around him like a blanket. Sherlock had not lied to Lestrade, they had been _very very_ busy indeed. They didn't call him three continents Watson for no reason. He smirked to himself as he gently rolled over, placing Sherlock on the ground and putting himself against his chest. There he could move about properly even when Sherlock's arms wrapped around him. He nestled against his fiancé and sighed happily, thinking about the night before. He still hadn't gotten over the shock that Sherlock had actually proposed to him, got down on one knee and _proposed_. The same Sherlock who had in the past adamantly insisted himself incapable of emotion and even still had just barely told John that he loved him a fortnight ago. If this was a very detailed dream stemming from some sort of coma he'd been left in after Sebastian, well he hoped it didn't end. Sherlock had been so... He was reluctant even in his head to use the word sweet to describe him but that was the only adjective he could think of. Thinking of adjectives he was pretty vague on the meaning of the word ardently, sure he'd seen Pride and Prejudice (the one with Keira knightley of course) enough times to get the general gist of it being a positive thing but apart from that he really didn't know what it meant.

"Shhhh John" Sherlock mumbled into his hair "You're thinking too loudly, very distracting. Plus I doubt it's half as enjoyable as what I'm thinking of." John snorted and slid from Sherlock's chest, giggling at the small mewl of annoyance that elicited before moving up so he was face to face with Sherlock. "Oh really? What are you thinking of then?" he asked, leaning on one elbow as he snuggled back into Sherlock's warmth. Sherlock smirked "I'm thinking of precisely what noises you made when I put my tongue-" John cut him off with a blush and a light slap on his arm "That was only about" he looked at his watch "four hours ago, I remember it very well and while I would love to hear more about it, I don't think you could take another round" he grinned broadly when Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're completely incorrigible John, did you know? I take it that I was right in saying my thoughts were much more enjoyable?" John shuffled closer until even their eyelashes were touching "In a manner of speaking, I was thinking about the fact that you proposed to me, what you said, specifically the word ardently, and how I have no clue what it means but that it sounded wonderful coming from you" Sherlock smiled softly and tilted his face so He could speak directly into John's ear. "Ardently: passionately, eagerly, in our case with every fiber of my being loving every fiber of yours. " John smiled brightly and planted a light kiss on his forehead "As I suspected, incalculably sweet and wonderful. How you do that I will never understand" Sherlock raised his eyebrows and waited for an explanation. "Well with me sometimes you are the most romantic,affectionate, generally pleasant person and then at others you can be harsh and irritating and just a bit of a git, what I can't wrap my head around is how you are so perfect in both settings, they combine to form you so completely that I don't think I'd want one without the other. It's just a strange thing to think about." John mused more to himself than to Sherlock, who had wondered where the conversation was going after that rocky start. "As long as we both know you're not going to attempt to change that" John leaned in and pressed their lips together, marveling in how soft and pliant Sherlock's lips always seemed against his. "Wouldn't dream of it" he winked before heaving himself up off the floor and heading for the kitchen.

"Tea?" he called out to Sherlock who had picked himself up off the floor too and was currently strolling towards their room. "It's a hot beverage considered to be quintessential among English and Irish natives. What about tea John?" John rolled his eyes "Do you want some or not, cheeky git" he added as Sherlock appeared in the doorway laden down with some clothes for John. "You love me, what does that make you?" Sherlock smirked as he handed John the pile. "An idiot who loves a cheeky git?" John asked as he pulled a clean jumper on over his head. "Precisely" Sherlock laughed and opened the fridge. "Erm John? We appear to be out of milk." John sighed and tightened his belt around his waist. "Come on then we'll get some from Mrs Hudson, and no whining because I know you poured it all out to make space for the arms that you took home." Sherlock smiled guiltily and John took his hand, leading the way out the door."Seems like life wouldn't be complete without waking up to an assortment of limbs in the fridge." he quipped and the faint trace of guilt faded away as they stood waiting for Mrs Hudson to open her door.

"Hello boys what are you doing up so early? That Lestrade fellow call you away?" She asked as she ushered the two of them inside. "No no, we just needed some milk for tea, Sherlock spilled ours down the drain again. I'm beginning to wonder why I said yes" he winked at Sherlock who beamed at him in return. Mrs Hudson just looked confused. "Said yes to what dear?" she asked, watching the two of them while they slipped into their own little world and then back out of it to answer her. "Should probably have opened with that shouldn't we?" John said, laughing. Sherlock turned to Mrs Hudson and shrugged "We asked each other if we wanted to get married and the response on both fronts was yes. Obviously." Mrs Hudson paused for a moment and took in the scene that was before her. Sherlock was sitting down, smiling broadly up at John who was standing behind him, arm draped across his shoulder and smirking. She looked at his hand and sure enough a golden ring had appeared on it, already looking like it had always been there, like he had been born wearing it. Her eyes flicked down to Sherlock's hands and there too sat a ring, white gold and sparkling in the beam of early morning light streaming in the window. Her own hands flew to her mouth as she squealed "Oh boys! You definitely should have started with that, trying to give me a heart attack the two of you! Oh congratulations, I couldn't be happier for you both. You'll have to tell me everything that happened, don't you roll your eyes at me Sherlock I know you remember it all, Now you take the milk and help yourselves to buns, I have to call Mrs Turner and tell her, maybe you can meet her married ones, get a few tips. I'll make tea, but only this once, I'm" "Not our housekeeper" Sherlock and John chimed in unison as Mrs Hudson toddled back to the kettle and her phone.

"Almost forgot that other people don't know" John whispered as Mrs Hudson chattered down the phone. Sherlock smirked "Well Molly will get the message when she sees the lab today, we left the boxes there" he grinned cheekily "and I got some assistance from my brother but he doesn't know that we're engaged yet, apart from them and now Mrs Hudson no one else has any idea." John picked up a bun and bit into it, offering Sherlock a bite which he gladly accepted and nodded at their landlady who was smiling tearily at them. "I get the distinct feeling that this will make Mummy insufferable when she hears, Mycroft will not have told her anything, not until he is certain that I did it" Two mugs of tea were placed in front of them and John sat down at the table. "Can we avoid meeting people face to face? Mrs Hudson is fine because she's... well she's Mrs Hudson, but I do not plan on regaling the whole story to every acquaintance we have." John chuckled and sipped his tea. "Tell you what, we'll text anyone who needs to know, call your mother and I'll call Harry. It's going to be the best conversation we've even had 'Oh _hello_ Harry did you know I've been dating someone devilishly handsome and we're engaged? Did I _mention_ he's a man?' I can feel just how fun it's going to be already" John added sarcastically, wondering how he could possibly avoid having her meet Sherlock. She may have been his sister but John knew exactly how rude and probably vulgar any conversation with Harry would be, and how it would most likely spiral into a very one sided argument and a welcome storm out.

Sherlock patted his hand apologetically and rose, tilting his head as if listening for something."Well it looks as if we'll have to have at least one more face to face meeting. I'll just text Mycroft, he'll be very annoyed that he wasn't the first to know." John listened hard and heard the slam of car doors just on the street below, and the familiar sound of a gruff voice. "Is he seriously going to do a drugs bust?" John asked incredulously as Sherlock strode out of 221a and took the stairs two at a time to 221b while texting leisurely on his phone. "Yes and Mycroft sends his well wishes, best be on your guard I think dear... you know her as Anthea will soon pay you a delightful visit."As soon as John passed through the door Sherlock locked it, buying them a few minutes. "Do we want to scar them permanently or will we go for nonchalance? Personally I would go for scarring, much more fun for us." They giggled as Lestrade and his team reached the door and failed to open it.

"I think anything we do will scar most of them..." Sherlock smirked "Brilliant" and shoved John backwards onto the couch before straddling his hips and capturing his lips in a lavish kiss, parting his lips and teasing his tongue out into his own mouth until they were wrapped in a slow dance of perfectly timed movement, if Sherlock leaned back John moved with him, a perfect team. The door swung open and officers piled in, not yet seeing the display on the couch that was not merely for their benefit anymore, because Sherlock somehow had his hands twisted into John's jumper and John definitely had a hand on his ass. The team tramped through the hall and into the sitting room and there was a chorus of gasps as various items clattered to the floor and officers shuffled awkwardly, Lestrade coughing at the pair who were tangled in each other, all of them various shades of red. "Eh... Sherlock? Any chance you could em..." Lestrade bumbled and Sherlock pulled his lips from John's before latching himself onto his neck. "You will _so_ pay for this later Sherlock I swear-gah! Yes Greg?" John tried to focus on everything but the Sherlock attacking his neck.

"Right well um yesterday I called you both in and you just, eh, ignored me even though it's a pretty interesting case..." Sherlock scoffed, removing his mouth and loosening his grip long enough for John to flip them and take up his actions with a selfsatisfied "Ha!" Sherlock was pleased to see that most of the team had vacated the premises and were standing outside the door. Only Anderson and Donovan remained, although even Lestrade was desperately staring at the wall. "Lestrade. If you haven't noticed" his breathing hitched for just a moment as John grazed his teeth along his Adams apple "we are very busy, I told you last night and I'm telling you now, your baboons should be able to handle one case by themselves" Donovan scoffed "You're essentially getting ridden right in front of us and _we're_ the animals?" Anderson sneered in agreement and Sherlock attempted to subtly lean his head back farther, giving John more access. "A few issues with that one Sally, but I'll start with the obvious being that it is _you_ who stormed into _our_ home and didn't leave even when you realised something was going on, are we a bit of a voyeur Anderson? I am perfectly within my rights to do what ever I wish with my fiancé in our home and as for being animals we all are, our bodies are composed of animal cells. Some of us are just more evolved than others" Lestrade stared open mouthed "Fiancé?" Sherlock smirked harder than ever as he held up his hand for inspection. A quick look at his hand, and an even fast glance at John's which was comfortably on his ass and Lestrade ushered his agents to the door, both of themutterly shocked. "Oh, and Sally? I prefer to top" he grinned and then gasped as John trailed his hands into his shirt.

The door closed with a quiet pop and soon after Sherlock's phone chimed in with Irene's voice. John pushed himself up and off of Sherlock with a shudder "First Anderson now that noise, there are some things that I just can't do to you with those images in my brain. " Sherlock laughed and propped himself up "We have all day for that and I'd be much obliged if mine was the only face you think of while you 'do things to me' and for the record I don't have a preference, either way is fantastic" John winked at him knowingly and handed him his phone. After reading quietly Sherlock snorted. "It's from Lestrade.** A heads up would have been nice Sherlock, I did not need to see that. Though the look on their faces was priceless, I got a few photos of them for you, wedding present maybe You certainly have a way with shocking people, but congratulations to you both and I better be invited to the wedding. I'll loose the baboons in your stead just this once. And next time you're 'busy' (I realise now what you meant) just don't pick up the phone. Please.-G**" John groaned and covered his face with his hands "I won't be able to look him in the eye for days!" He groaned, flopping into his armchair and pulling out his phone with a reluctant sigh.

"I'm calling Harry, you call Mummy and then we'll go get some lunch" Sherlock sighed but brought his phone up to his ear anyway. John gritted his teeth and dialed, listening to the ringing and almost hoping that she wouldn't pick up. She did. "**Hello?**" "Harry?" "**John?! Do you need someone to bail you out or something because I know I told you the last time you bailed me out that I would return the favour but I doubt I could afford it**" "No Harry I don't need you to bail me out, I work with the police on occasion, I have a blog?" "**Oh yeah right, I keep meaning to read that blog of yours but I've never gotten round to it... What's been going on with you?**" "Quite a bit actually but you first, how's Clara?" "**She's good, still here if that's what you're getting at. As long as I'm sober she's staying with me.**" "That's really great Harry I'm happy for you. How's work, life in general?" "**I'm a barista now, Starbucks. Clara and Tony, my sponsor, figured it wasn't good to work around all that temptation so I decided to leave the bar. Life in general... It's slow, kinda just trying to fit all the pieces back together after last year. But enough about me, what about you? Tell me everything, it's been a long time, almost three years since we've spoken**." "I know Harry but" "**It's okay Johnny, I understand that you couldn't do it anymore. No guilt in that.**" "Well I suppose I'll start at the very beginning. I moved to London again, got a flatmate. He's a genius and his name's Sherlock, he solves crime for Scotland yard and I'm his partner in crime. I may or may not have saved his life a few times and he's returned the favour." "**He sounds interesting... What about your love life? That girl what's her name still knocking around? She had a great arse**" "Em no. Actually Harry that's why I called. Sherlock's my flatmate..." "**Yeah?**" "and my fiancé. We got engaged yesterday." "**OH MY GOD! CLARA! CLARA! JOHN'S GAY! HE IS! WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DO I KNOW! HE'S ENGAGED. TO A MAN. I'M ON TO HIM RIGHT NOW Clara says hello and congrats SERIOUSLY CLAR, GOOGLE HIM RIGHT NOW! SHERLOCK what's his last name?**" "*sigh* Holmes." "**HOLMES! One sec John I'm going downstairs to take a look.**" "Yeah I figured you would. I suppose there's no point in telling you I'm not gay? Probably not judging by those ear piercing shrieks." "**I'm back! He's gorgeous, even I might give him a go, I mean look at those cheekbones**" "Yeah I know..." "**Well when do I meet him**?" "Uh... He's not very personable... I'm warning you in advance that he can be very candid and he'll know everything about you just from looking at you." "**I was never one to shy away from a challenge, plus I want to get to know the man who turned my baby brother!**" "He didn't turn me, Harry look we'll talk more in person okay? I'll text you later and we'll meet up?" "**God this is going to be very interesting isn't it? I'll talk to you later then Johnny, bye**" "Bye Harry." The line went dead with a beep and John was left to figure out how best to introduce Harry to Sherlock, they were going to hate each other.

Sherlock hastened to call Mummy, knowing that the sooner he did the sooner he would be able to go out with John. The phone rang three times before being picked up. "**Hello Sherlock, are you alright? You're not in trouble are you? Do you need hitmen?**" "No Mummy I'm fine" " **Oh good because my best are working at the moment anyway. If you're okay why did you call? Not that I don't appreciate hearing from you but you really do prefer to text.**" "John has to call his sister so it's only fair that I call you too. I have something to tell you." "**Alright, tell me then**" "I asked John to marry me, and he asked me to marry him. We're engaged as of yesterday." "**Oh Sherlock that's wonderful news! You had me worried that you were ill! I'm so happy for you both, you know how I am fond of John, he'll be good to you Sherlock, I think you're going to have to come and meet me together so I can get the whole story, everything that's happened since you left Mycroft's! And we can talk wedding details, You are having a wedding aren't you?**" "We have yet to discuss the details of it all, but I don't think either of us has a preference. As for meeting with you We already have to tell the whole story to Mrs Hudson, we will bring her along and just have a single telling, that would be easiest." "**Perfect ,and do tell Martha I say hello, I haven't seen her in such a long time.**" "I will pass the sentiment along. Where and when shall we meet then?" "**Two days time in my summer home, Autumn or not it's my favourite of the four, I'll send a car**" "Fine. I must go Mummy we have plans" "**I will see you in two days time then Sherlock, and tell John I'm glad he accepted**" "Mummy it... We'll explain when we see you. Goodbye Mummy." "**Goodbye Sherlock**." Sherlock pocketed his phone and waited for John to finish.

"We have a meeting with Mummy in two days, she wants the whole story of what's happened since Mycroft's. We're bringing Mrs Hudson along so it's easier." John smiled and then rubbed the back of his neck "Yeah we're going to have to meet up with Harry at some stage soon, she eh 'wants to meet the man who turned her baby brother' " Sherlock frowned "I didn't turn you, you just fell for me and I happened to be a man." John shrugged "She didn't really give me the chance to explain, but it doesn't matter anyway, I don't really care what people think anymore, they haven't got a Sherlock to deduce the living daylights out of anyone annoying" John smiled and held out his arm and Sherlock linked them as the walked, pulling on scarves and coats as they went. "What do you feel like for lunch?" John asked as they reached the street. "Angelo's?" Sherlock grinned "Angelo's" John replied with a smile.


	21. Chapter 21

Waking up in each others arms had yet to lose it's appeal, and Sherlock couldn't help but revel in the caress of his fiancé, nor could he get used to thinking of John in those words. Long gone were the linguistic basics of friends and best mates, traded in for the more pleasing lover, partner, boyfriend as the language of seduction and possession came into play. Now however, an entirely new cocktail of powerful words were needed, words like fiancé and husband, words that held so much more weight than Sherlock had ever dreamed. In times of utter and complete languid calm he would call to his mind John's name and many of the words he had come to associate it with. John Watson: flatmate, partner, soldier, back up, doctor, best friend, only friend, laughter, lover, fiancé, heart, life - to list but a few. They would have to get up soon he knew, Mummy was awaiting them, but he could not bring himself to rouse John, not quite yet. He would begin to wake on his own in a few minutes anyway, drifting into the lighter sleep of morning. For now Sherlock was content to watch his John sleep, chest rising and falling with each breath, simply for the pleasure of knowing that he could. Even as he watched John's breathing began to quicken, and John rolled over sluggishly and planted a kiss on his chest.

"Morning Sherlock" he yawned into his chest. "Good morning John. We promised Mummy that we" John pressed a finger to his lips "Shshsh. No discussions until I've at least had some tea."Sherlock rolled his eyes and extricated his body from John's octopus arms. Sometimes it was hard to believe he only had two of them, he always seemed to tangle himself around Sherlock. "Come along then John" he called as he pulled on his robe and swept out into the kitchen. John rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched, wide awake now he threw on a pair of lounge pants and turned on the kettle bare chested. Sherlock had picked up his violin and was playing, the melody swelling and changing key as he swayed, whole body moving with it. John watched enthralled until the toast popped and kettle boiled and he had to look away. When he had set the table the music stopped abruptly and Sherlock sat down with a contented sigh to sip his tea. "We're bringing Mrs Hudson with us to Mummy's later in case you've forgotten" he remarked over his mug, smirking at John's sleep mused hair and lack of shirt. "Somehow I don't think I could forget the fact that we're taking Mrs Hudson with us. You have told her that though, right?" John shook his head fondly as Sherlock realised his mistake. "MRS HUDSON" he bellowed, she was obviously awake and probably just beginning to make lunch, so late had they slept in.

Unhurried footfalls creaked their way up the steps and Mrs Hudson peered around the door, visibly relieved by what she saw. "Oh good, no fires! Whatever is the matter dear?" she clucked at Sherlock like a mother hen. "We are going to visit Mummy in a short while as she has requested to hear 'The full story' as you did. Therefore to save time you should come with us there to avoid a retelling. Oh yes and she says hello" John smiled brightly at her all the while and she grinned and clapped her hands together. "How is Orabelle? I haven't heard from her in so long... It will be good to see her again" she gushed at them both. "Well at least I know her name now, never heard of anyone called Orabelle before, then again, she named you Sherlock and Mycroft so I suppose I should be less surprised." Sherlock smirked "Actually it was my father, Siger, who decided on Sherlock and Mycroft, traditional Holmes mens names. Mummy is French, Orabelle is a French name meaning golden light. Mummy decided our middle names should be French too." Sherlock grimaced and stuck out his tongue briefly. "Well? What are they then?" John asked excitedly, he'd never thought to ask this before but now he had to know. "Mycroft's full name is Mycroft Ameri Erec Holmes." John's mouth twitched slightly "And what do those names mean then?" Sherlock smirked " Ameri means Home ruler, Erec means ever ruling." John and Mrs Hudson burst out laughing, clutching their sides at the apt names that had been bestowed upon Mycroft at birth. John wiped his eyes, tears of mirth had been streaming down his face "Oh God, right, your mum knows everything, it's official! What about your name then?" Sherlock pouted but acquiesced "Sherlock Tristan Legér Holmes. Tristan meaning riot and Legér meaning people spear." John smiled "Accurate enough, Mummy Holmes is very impressive. At least you're not called Hamish." he joked and Sherlock pecked him quickly on the cheek, a thank you of sorts for not laughing.

"Well you boys should get dressed then, If I know Orabelle we'll be there for lunch. I'll just get my coat" Mrs Hudson traipsed back down stairs and Sherlock and John heeded her advice, moving back to the bedroom to get dressed. Sherlock was very pleased with Mrs Hudson, her gaze had not lingered on John's arm at all. In fairness the branded one was facing away from her, but still she had not commented on the black words seared into his skin. In an objective way, they were kind of beautiful, with each letter being equally spaced and almost looking as though they had been artfully shaded. To those who didn't know it could be seen as a tattoo, to those who did, it was yet another war wound Sherlock thought to himself as he watched John bustle out of the shower. He strode past him to shower himself, but first held John up for a moment to press a kiss to his brand. John rubbed his hair dry with a towel and cleared the kitchen quickly while Sherlock washed. Sherlock had just finished when he decided it was time to get dressed and the two danced around each other in a familiar routine, arms and legs just barely brushing as they reached for shirts, shoes, anything. John couldn't help but smile at the silver tags clinking together against the pale expanse of Sherlock's chest. Even as they disappeared beneath a crisp white shirt they were still resting against his heart. He pulled on his black and white striped jumper rather absent mindedly, not even realising that they had matched their outfits. By the time they had dressed and reconvened with Mrs Hudson a sleek black car pulled up outside.

John and Sherlock tied each others scarves on the way out the door and Mrs Hudson let out a soft "Awwwwww" when their foreheads rested against each others and they smiled. The journey passed quickly and was filled with warm laughter and easy conversation between them. John looked out the window and then at Sherlock. "Is this going to be as dauntingly enormous as Mycroft's house because I don't think I can take any more of that... extravagance" Sherlock laughed briefly "I think you'll like Mummy's Summer home, she designed it herself for her own personal use. It's more to my tastes personally. In fact we're coming up to it now." John and Mrs Hudson turned to look as the house loomed into view. "Oh" John breathed. They had driven into a forest clearing, surrounded by evergreens that seemed to touch the horizon. In the middle of the glade a large house stood, the first floor covered in river stones and the second wood logs. Large windows showed on open plan home filled with wooden furnishings, warm lights and rugs. "This is lovely Sherlock" Mrs Hudson added as he opened her car door. "Yes, it is" he smiled as Mummy emerged with a glide.

"Martha Hudson! It has been far too long!" she exclaimed and wrapped Mrs Hudson in a tight embrace "Who's fault is that now Orabelle?" Mrs Hudson chided as she returned the embrace of her friend. Seeing John's confusion Sherlock whispered to him "Mrs Hudson's husband was a powerful man, my parents met them both at a variety of functions at which it was blatantly obvious that Mrs Hudson was not like anyone else in the circle, just as Mummy had been. They became fast friends, but then there was the move to America and her husband and later my involvement in her husband's death." John nodded his understanding. "It's good to see you again John, I had hoped that this would happen of course but Sherlock has a habit of messing things up when he gets happy." Sherlock shuffled embarrassedly as John was embraced. "I wouldn't have it any other way" he grinned and allowed her to drag him towards the house with Sherlock in tow and Mrs Hudson chuckling at the front of the group. In no time at all the four of them were seated in the living room, with it's expansive window over looking the tranquil forest and allowing the room to fill with light. Sherlock was splayed across the entirety of a black leather couch with John's lap as a pillow beneath his head and his hands running though his curls, his head moving to seek them if the movement stopped. Tea was passed out and Mummy and Mrs Hudson settled into their armchairs. "So. From when they left me last then?" the question was adressed to Mrs Hudson, and she nodded eagerly because there was no part of this story she wasn't hearing.

John looked down at the man in his lap with a question in his eyes. Sherlock gave a small nod and John began. "Well when we got home there was a case already waiting for us and that was our first port of call. Do you want to hear about it because it's not particularly pleasant..." John trailed off and it was Mrs Hudson who encouraged him to continue. "The whole story dear" and he kept going. "Right, well basically the murderer was killing people who used to be in my platoon in Afghanistan. Sebastian Moran was his name and he had a grudge against me. Anyway seeing as we knew who the killer was we couldn't really do much else except wait for him and I was exhausted so Sherlock brought me home and put me to bed before leaving to fill in paper work for Lestrade. Moran arrived while he was gone, knocked me out and took me to a closed mental hospital basement. He set up some cameras, hacked the feed into cctv for Mycroft and Sherlock to watch and er... Took out some of his frustrations on me we'll say. Sherlock figured out where I was and he and Greg came, killed Moran and brought me to hospital. We stayed there for a few days and then went home again when I realised Sherlock had destroyed our table. Again." Sherlock beamed innocently up at him and he chuckled, stroking his cheek.

"Anyway we needed a new one so the next week after my final doctor's appointment Sherlock brought me to get a new one at Edgar's antique shop." Sherlock cut in then, taking up the story. "Having met Edgar before you will be aware of his not being an idiot. He observed that I was pondering asking John to marry me and convinced me that I should do it because John was clearly in love with me" John smiled down at him with warm affection in his gaze and Sherlock didn't even have to try to reciprocate because he knew his face mirrored John's. "I spoke with Mycroft, I needed a way of getting the ring without John knowing and I also wanted another gift, something more..." he struggled for a word "Us" John finished and continued his side of the story. "I was actually thinking of proposing as well at the time but I wasn't sure when I was going to do it. I met Edgar at the shops and he knew and him knowing just kind of made me want to do it more so I set up an appointment with a jewler. Our rings arrived on the same day thankfully and we both had them in our pockets. Sherlock asked me to go with him to the morgue and dinner with him as soon as I got back from the jewlers so I had it still with me when we left." Sherlock grinned "Luckily." Mummy and Mrs Hudson were enraptured with the story, and had decided not to interrupt the telling of it until the end. Sherlock never appreciated being interrupted.

"So Sherlock brings me to Molly's lab, she's our friend who's a pathologist, which is actually where we first met and it's been scrubbed down and on the desk is dinner and candles from Angelo's where we had our first date. I still had no idea what he was planning because as he says I'm an idiot but we started eating and he's telling me all these stories about Mycroft as a child and then out of the blue he says that he has something for me and slides this pile of navy fabric across the desk. It's all folded up into a square and I start unfolding it, it is pretty clear that it's a scarf, the exact same as the one he wears everyday but on the next to last fold there's letters embroidered into it - JHWH, and I asked what the extra H was for but Sherlock peeled that back and sitting there was a ring box. I think my heart stopped beating for a moment when I saw it... He gave me a little speech that was... and asked me to marry him." Sherlock placed his hand over John's "Much to my surprise John laughed and pulled out two boxes of his own, and asked me to marry him. We both said yes and proceeded to have copius amounts of-" John put a hand over his mouth and blushed "Not that much detail Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson giggled "Nothing I haven't heard before, I do live below you boys, I don't think any of us have gotten much sleep recently" she winked and John wished he could delete that from his mind.

Sherlock smirked and rolled to face the two women who had been waiting patiently for their cue. "You can ask away now" there was an audible exhale and Mummy began her questions "Who was first to know? Are you putting this on your blog, wait do your readers even know you're together? Are you having a wedding because you know how much I love a good wedding, What about grandkids is that still on the table?" She babbled out all in a rush and John could barely follow what she was saying after the first three questions. "Molly, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and team, You, Harry Watson. As for the blog no they don't know we're together and I don't know it's John's blog. The rest... We have yet to discuss." Sherlock answered softly. 'The rest' was a lot. John piped in "I think I am putting it in the blog, I want everyone to know that he's spoken for. Maybe that will stop everyone from ogling him on the street." The women laughed at look of exasperation Sherlock gave John who beamed at him until he smiled back. "D'you want a wedding? I'm easy either way, I'd happily marry you in a skip if that was what you wanted" he added to Sherlock only, who steepled his hands beneath his chin. "I feel the same way, so neither of us have a preference or any great feelings against it... If you wish Mummy we would not be adverse to a wedding." She clapped her hands excitedly and Mrs Hudson was all but bouncing in her seat. "Wonderful! Oh this will be just like old times Martha! We have so much to do, how about a spring wedding, that'll give us about five months to organise. You boys go see if lunch is ready. We'll need to call Antonio, you remember him don't you?" Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and swung himself up, took John's hand and stalked off to the opposite side of the house.

"I would have warned you about that but it was inevitable." John shrugged and looked into the kitchen where a tall man was throwing something into a pan. "Not ready yet, perfect! We can have a chat while we're waiting then. Come on" he opened a sliding door and stepped out into the forest, sitting on a boulder a few metres from the door. Sherlock followed and sat opposite him, fully aware of what this chat was in aid of. "So. Clearly we need to eh... Discuss? I don't know your feelings about 'The Rest' so I want you to tell me, truthfully, how you feel about kids, for us I mean, not in general." John swallowed hard and waited. He wasn't even sure what way he wanted this to go. Sherlock looked nervous, probably for the first time in the time John had known him and that was terrifying in itself. "I... Our lives are not exactly safe, there's criminals and chemicals and body parts and murder and that's all part of our everyday life. I play the violin at three in the morning and snap at people almost constantly. I get easily frustrated with people for not recognising what to me is obvious, but not with children. They're open and eager to learn, they have an actual interest in what I do and how I do it, they like me because I treat them like they're grown ups but none of my cousins have to live with me for a prolonged period of time. I don't know if I would be enough for a child, the only experience of childhood I had was brief and unpleasant and I wouldn't inflict it on a child just because they were mine, it wouldn't be fair to put them through it. Aside from anything else we are out almost constantly and a child, no matter how brilliant, should not be left alone. I wouldn't be a good father John." Sherlock dropped his eyes and fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, avoiding John's gaze. "Sherlock" John breathed and he looked up. "You haven't answered the question properly, Do you want us to have children?" he asked softly. "Yes, even though I shouldn't." Sherlock whispered, feeling nauseous. He shouldn't want them, he would mess just as his father had with him and Mycroft and they would hate him for it, he hated himself for wanting them anyway. Before he knew it John was around him and he breathed in the tea and biscuit smell that was John. "You'll be a great father Sherlock, when the time comes, you will be great. I'll be right there with you, and we'll raise them together. When the time comes." John mused into his curls and stroked his back, comforting him for feeling like he would ruin a child. "We don't have to worry about it now, as long as we both know that yes children are 'on the table' as Mummy so eloquently put it." Sherlock chuckled into his jumper. "Lunch is ready boys and we have so much to talk about! How do you feel about lilies?" Mrs Hudson called to them from the door. Sherlock stood and dusted himself of and John smiled. When the time comes, Sherlock thought, he will be a great father.

**A/N Hello dolls I'm back! Writers block is a bit of a bitch guys, seriously not fun at all, so if this is terrible I apologise but it's all my brain would spew out so deal with it! French names, Idek... I assume that mother-in-laws ask about weddings and grandkids because ya know, that's the type of thing they care about? That's a conversation they needed to have anyway so yerps... There may be some French conversation next chapter so be warned that might happen and yeah that's pretty much it, thanks for reading, reviewing, follows and favourites! ~S**


	22. Chapter 22

"I feel like we're going to regret giving them the reins in the near future" John muttered under his breath to Sherlock as they sat down at the table and listened to Mrs Hudson and Mummy Holmes discuss a hundred things at once. They were already squealing shrilly, John could just barely make out words like "flower arrangement" and "venue specialist". He sighed resignedly and Sherlock patted his arm "As long as they're happy we don't have to deal with them." John smirked and fiddled with the silverware that was probably genuine silver and took a deep breath to just calm himself a bit. Their future seemed to be revealing itself at a devastating pace and while it was all wonderful from this side of the timeline the chances of successfully maneuvering themselves to live that way were slim to say the least. They barely knew what would happen from one week to the next, who knew where they'd be five months down the line, and while they both agreed that a child was most certainly on the agenda, it wasn't like they could just go about it the conventional way and that would mean patience and hard work to find a surrogate or adopt. He had a feeling that once again nothing in their lives would go to plan, but it didn't really matter to him when Sherlock caught his eye. How could anything else matter when he had two moons pulling him in like the tide? As long as he had Sherlock no plan mattered. Sherlock focused all his attention on John and his expression softened into a shy smile.

"Boys? They're in their own little world, what did I tell you Belle, they're always doing that at home. Some days I wonder if they're home at all!" Mrs Hudson laughed affectionately and repeated the question. "Well do you want a church wedding? Only we were thinking" Sherlock cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Mrs Hudson we trust both of your judgements implicitly in all matters pertaining to our wedding, whatever you decide will be perfectly adequate." Orabelle smirked and thanked the chef before setting into the steak that had been set before them so smoothly that John barely had time to register that anything had changed. "Thank you Sebastian, that will be all." The silent man nodded curtly and disappeared back into the kitchen. "He's one hell of a butler" John commented between mouthfuls, his steak was perfectly cooked to his tastes, medium rare and looking at Sherlock's which was well done he spared a wandering thought to how the mysterious butler had that information but dismissed it soon after.

The meal was quite pleasant, conversations ranged from work to the childhoods of Sherlock and Mycroft and questions about Lestrade and how he and Mycroft were doing. "Last I spoke to him they were having a, oh what's the phrase... Little domestic? I spoke to Mycroft about it briefly. The manor has plenty of spare rooms he could sleep in when Lestrade kicks him out of his yet he slept on the couch. Seems rather idiotic." Sherlock scoffed, poking his food about rather than actually eating it. "It's just something people do Sherlock, it's not really about the availability of other sleeping arrangements. You're supposed to be uncomfortable, it's kind of like saying sorry for making your partner upset, but you still have to say sorry." John tried to explain in an easily understood way but the whole practice did seem a bit daft, especially if there was somewhere else you could sleep properly. Before Sherlock could say anything John held up his hands in a placating gesture "I don't make the social conventions" he added and Sherlock rolled his eyes in an affectionate sort of way.

Mrs Hudson laughed merrily at that "It seems like all the memories I had of you Sherlock from when you were younger involve that exact face. Oh, remember when you were trying to get him to learn French from that woman... Whatever her name was, and Sherlock here refused to open his mouth for months and there was nothing anyone could do to convince him and then" she had to hold her sides so uncontrollable was her laughter "when you told her there was no point, that she could leave he gave a string of his deductions about her in French?" Orabelle smiled fondly at the memory. "Oui je rappele ça, le petit coquin a l'apprendu déjà. Tu as effaces la langue je suppose?" ( yes I remember that, the little rascal had learned it already. You've deleted the language I suppose?) John was shocked sufficiently to learn that he still understood what she was saying, apparently those French A levels had stayed with him. Sherlock quirked a brow and the corner of his mouth turned upwards.

"Non, c'est assez utile pour le travail, j'ai travailé un fois en France à Rennes. Les gendarmes étè difficle, j'ai fondé que un gendarme qui s'appele Christophe étè le meurtrier. Je pense ils me n'aime pas." (No, it's kind of usefull for the work, I worked once in Rennes. The police were difficult, I discovered that a police officer named Christophe was the murderer. I don't think they like me.) John was gaping, firstly because he was still following the conversation, and secondly because if it were possible Sherlock sounded even better while speaking French. Mrs Hudson clearly had no idea what they were saying so John quickly engaged her in conversation, still keeping one ear in the one happening next to him. "J'aime lui, bien sur, mais tu es positif que ce décision est bon pour vous? C'était une grand surprise" )I like him, of course, but are you positivethat this decision is right for you? It was a big surprise) She whispered, she was happy for them, having been positive that there wouldn't be anyone in her youngest son's life at all, but worried none the less. Marriage was a huge step after all. Sherlock understood her wariness, it was a surprise to him as well, but he wanted everyone to know that John was his to have for as long as humanly possible. "Je suis vraiment sur Maman, Il est le person seul dans l'universe pour moi. Il est le mien et Je suis le sien." (I'm truly sure mum, he's the only person in the universe for me. He is mine and I am his.) John looked away just in time to avoid catching Sherlock's eye when he looked over and smiled at him. "Je suis content pour vous" ( I'm happy for you) she added, giving his arm a quick squeeze "Merci Maman, Je suis content aussi." (Thank you, I'm happy too)

On that note the Holmes's rejoined conversation in English, none the wiser that John had understood every word they had spoken. It was late evening by the time they were going home, ending the day on a high note with Mrs Hudson barrelling into Mummy and demanding that this time round she stay in touch or she'd be after her, they had a lot of work to do in the coming months and she was not taking no for an answer. After careful assurance that she wouldn't dare lose contact again, Orabelle returned inside, watching the vibrant tail lights of the car disappear into the trees, taking the last of the day's light with it.

The drive home was subdued, it had been a long day and the conversation in the garden had given Sherlock a lot to think about. He stroked John's hair absent mindedly when his head lolled onto his shoulder as they drove and Mrs Hudson simply smiled affectionately at her boys. If the two had slipped into a light doze en route she was not going to wake them, not without getting a photo first. Sherlock was sleeping a lot more frequently now that John was sleeping next to him and she sent up a little silent prayer of thanks for their having found one another, the connection they had sparked since day one was something to be truly cherished. She hoped they realised how lucky they had gotten in finding their perfect other half.

Coffee with Harry had crept up on John until it was upon him and before he had time to breathe he was sitting in Starbucks with Sherlock at his side waiting for Harry to finish her shift. Sherlock breathed deeply and hummed, eyes flicking from person to person in the café. "We aren't exactly inconspicuous here John. I think she will see us before we see her" he drawled with a familiar smirk lighting his features. John raised an eyebrow, a question, a challenge, one Sherlock readily accepted. "The patrons of this establishment range in age from fifteen to twenty eight on average. Seventy three percent of those present are females who are here with a companion. All but seven of the men in this room are accompanied by a woman, which makes them, and by extension us, stick out in the crowd. The staff that are currently operating the till have only just begun their shift, their aprons and shirts, while dull in the extreme, are free from splashes or other stains while the waitress who served us ten minutes ago was a veritable explosion of spills and crumbs, meaning Harry had just gone to change when we arrived. Given the amount of time we have been sitting here I can tell you with some certainty that she will emerge in the next two minutes. The table you chose to sit at has a terrible view of the counter and the door beside it, but a lovely view of the park outside because you have been led by previous experience to expect that you will be forced to stare out of it when your sister acts in the usual way,that is to humiliate you with lewd and vulgar conversation, and probably berate one or both of us at some stage during what you and I both hope will be a brief meeting. The door however has a perfect angle at which to spot us as this table is the first one would see upon exiting it." Sherlock finished, clearly enunciating the final t. John's shoulders fell back into a more relaxed position and he chuckled, running the pads of his fingers lightly across Sherlock's cheek. "Brilliant" he grinned and Sherlock tried not to show the swell of pride that simple affirmation gave him.

"Might as well order again, I know what she'll get anyway. Do you want another?" John asked, pushing himself up and heading towards the queue. "Surprise me" Sherlock smirked and John rolled his eyes fondly before heading to the back of the line. In that moment the staff door creaked open, and a woman that was unmistakably Harriet Watson emerged. Somewhat shorter than her brother, Harry's blue eyes and sandy blonde locks were the image of John's, although the similarities between them ended there. Despite her short stature Harry was rather slender, her face all sharp angles and harsh lines. Her eyes lit up in recognition when she saw Sherlock and began striding over as John made his way back to the table with their drinks in hand. "Johnny!" she exclaimed, although the tilt of apprehension in her voice did not go unnoticed by Sherlock, she waited for John to free his hands and swept him into a hug. "Alright Harry?" he smiled shyly as Harry ruffled his hair with a smile "Never better Johnny." John sat next to Sherlock and gestured for her to sit opposite before turning to Sherlock "Harry meet Sherlock Holmes, my fiancé. Sherlock , this is Harry my older sister." Sherlock swept his eyes over her and pursed his lips, extending a hand to her "Enchanté Harry" he purred, John subtly took his hand under the table, silent gratitude for the company manners he was attempting to employ. Harry stared at John incredulously "You should have mentioned that on the phone, do you just talk to him in French all the time to hear his voice sound like that?" Sherlock jerked minutely in surprise as Harry gripped his hand and shook it briefly. John smirked "Actually no, he didn't know I spoke French until just now funnily enough" he giggled and Sherlock gave his hand a squeeze, evidently they were going to talk about that later.

"So Sherlock, I hear you're some sort of detective?" Harry quipped as she sipped at her iced mocha. "Yes, I'm a consulting detective. When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they call John and I." John beamed up at him and Harry coughed and made little gagging noises which she exchanged intermittently for kissing noises. It was exactly like when she'd met his first girlfriend, Amy, who incidentally ended up being her first girlfriend too.

As the conversation settled to a comfortable plateau (or rather Harry's polite questioning came to a close, Sherlock already knew everything about her) Harry grinned toothily. "So. We all know what I really want to hear about so go on, tell me how you wooed Three continents Watson, world's straightest." Sherlock looked confused briefly and tilted his head to the side. "I don't quite know what you mean. We became flat mates and then friends and quickly it was established that he was my best friend as I was his. Right about the point when I realised that he'd willingly die for me, and that I'd willingly die for him was when it became clear that I had stronger feelings than mere friendship for John. After several tortuous weeks I expressed these feelings to John and he thankfully reciprocated them and now here we are exactly six months, three weeks, four days, eight hours, twelve minutes and fourty seven seconds later." Harry furrowed her brow and looked genuinely taken aback by the response. Sherlock bit his lip and turned to John "Not good?" he asked nervously. It wasn't as if he'd been keeping count he just calculated it based on the time. John smiled and kissed him on the cheek "Very good actually. Remind me to ask you that frequently because it's quite frankly one of the sweetest things you've said to me." Sherlock rolled his eyes, a half smile playing on his lips "Duly noted."

Harry smirked and coughed a bit then continued her interrogations. "I was thinking it was probably you who convinced him, you seem pretty convincing. But now..." she grinned "Now I'm thinking it's the other way around. According to my reliable sources Johnny here's packing" she winked at Sherlock as John spluttered and blushed furiously "HARRY!" he groaned, putting his hands over his face "are we really going to do this? Again?" She shrugged in response and rounded back on Sherlock. Sure enough John's gaze had flitted to the window and the street outside. If only wishes could become reality, then he would not have to suffer this embarrassment. Alas there was no poof of smoke to take them away. "Clara was out with John shopping for this concert they were going to right? And Johnny lets her pick out stuff for him because she works in fashion and just knows her stuff. Anyway so picture John here just trying on everything that she tosses into the changing room without a second glance at what it is because he only wants to leave, he's got lectures and then training to go to or whatever. So Clara, being the stylist, gets a pair of leather skinnys and hands them in, not really thinking through the logistics. She's waiting outside and calls to him to come out, and he's not one for preening himself in the mirror first, so he just strides out in nothing but a pair of leather trousers that left NOTHING to the imagination. Needless to say I heard all about it when she came home. Well, am I right?" Sherlock simply smirked and lifted his cup to his lips, jolting slightly in surprise at the sweetness of the coffee inside. "Cinnamon chai latte" John murmured, gaze still directed to the outdoors.

"That didn't have a factor in the decision actually, although it was _definitely_ a pleasant surprise. Unlike you my choice of partner was based on much less superficial things." Harry scowled, the frown darkening her features, aging her by many years. She smiled sweetly, and Sherlock held back the grimace that was fighting to break across his cool façade. "Who tops? I bet you're always at it, if what I remember about Johnny's habits with women is still standing then I'm surprised you're able to sit down right now. Ain't that right Johnny boy?" John shuddered. The last person apart from his big sister to call him that had wanted to kill him, Sherlock and two of their closest friends. The name didn't sit well with him at all. "Harry come on, why are you asking these questions? It's really none of your business in the first place." Glaring challengingly at his sister John sat with arms folded, becoming Captain John Watson of the fifth Northumberland fusiliers once more.

"If I may interject? Harry here is feeling vulnerable, her situation with her ex-wife comme girlfriend is tenuous and her sex life has been non existent for a while now. She assumes that as she takes the dominant role in most all of her relationships, you too would be dominant. However - to answer your question Harry - she has no concept of the importance of _equality_ in a relationship and looks down upon Clara even still, though she doesn't perceive it that way. Her hands are shaking, the obvious reason being withdrawl and yet there's more, Harry is having trouble making the decision between alcohol and the only person apart from you who has ever truly given a damn about her well being. A choice, might I add, that should not be difficult in the slightest. She wishes to live vicariously through you so she can fool herself into believing that her relationship is better than it truly is at the moment instead of actually working at it. Lying to oneself is a truly Anderson-esque ploy Harriet. Only true fools can withstand misleading themselves for very long and in the end you will have lost everything before you have come clean. That much even you must know." Sherlock finished abruptly and sat back in his chair. He may have to pay for that later, but a sense of utter satisfaction was all he could really care about at that moment. Harry looked stunned, all colour gone from her face before returning in deep maroon to cover her cheeks. She opened her mouth to bite out a scathing retort but Sherlock beat her to it. "Oh yes, and I'd get that little problem checked out if I were you."

She flushed even deeper and stood up, grabbing her bag and fuming she turned to leave. "John I hope you know what you're doing because this tosser is the single biggest arsehole I've ever spoken to in my life. He's not

good enough for you and I hope you'll come to your senses and hightail it before it's too late. It was nice to see you again Johnny." and with that she swept out, leaving her utterly mortified brother in her wake. He sighed and rubbed a weary hand across his face. "Well that went better than expected." Sherlock's eyebrows were in his hairline at that "that was better than expected? Were you expecting a homicide?" John smirked and then shrugged "I expected you to blurt out your deductions right off the bat and her to storm off before sitting down, most likely parting with a slap to your face. So yes, better. Thank you, anyway, for trying. She's more difficult than you mostly and it means a lot that you made the effort for me even though I amn't particularly fond of her either. She's the only family I have left though... Only seemed right having her meet you before you officially become the only true family I have eh?" he smiled happily up at Sherlock who grinned back and locked their lips together. "She did have one thing of merit to offer" he murmured in breaths between kisses. "Mmmm? And what would that be?" John enquired lightly. "Leather trousers are a fantastic idea" John groaned and Sherlock simply smirked.

**A/N I'm baaaaaaack! During my brief hiatus I've been on holiday with my best friends (if any of you are reading this well... I'm all out of fun facts ;) ), painted the entire top floor of my house with my siblings, celebrated my sister's 14th and my brother's 21st and today one of my other sister's starts secondary school so excuse me while I go gush over how fast they grow up and be an utterly embarrassing older sister as is my duty. Hope you all like this chapter, even with the addition of my (rather dodgy) French and sly reference to Black Butler in there (ok not sly at all but whatever) and all. Never really wanted to like Harry and oh look she sucks but unfortunately she's necessary to the story so she will be making another appearance at some stage in the future. Anyhow, you all know the drill at this stage but if you have any comments or ideas of what you'd like to see happen I'm open to all of your suggestions! Thanks so much for all the support and feedback as always ~S**


	23. Chapter 23

Soon enough the residual warmth of the summer disappeared completely, giving way to the biting cold and barren trees of winter. Time for the residents of 221b Baker street passed as it always did, with cases and chases and each other's company to help stave off boredom. With the change of the seasons came darker nights, forcing the tactics they employed when in pursuit of a criminal to change with it. John could not help but think back to last winter, when Irene Adler had made herself known to them. He smiled slightly to himself at the memory, fingers ghosting lightly across the rim of the crystal ashtray that sat on the mantle next to Sherlock's skull. She too had predicted this outcome, her sharp tongue dancing about the subject frequently, from the moment they had met in fact. "Somebody loves you" she had said and she had been right, although he'd actually just hit the place where he'd be least likely to leave permanent damage. But love him he did and he had figured it out after a long night of contemplation when she had disappeared. Rather inconvenient that, especially when the next big case came along, the one with Henry Knight in Baskerville.

It had hurt a lot more than it should have, having to say that no Sherlock wasn't actually his, even more so when Sherlock had said that he didn't have any friends. Just because he didn't have friends didn't mean other's considered him anything less than that. He was John's best friend, and John was his only friend. And that's leaving out a lot of the big parts of the case, like when Sherlock tried to poison him with sugar, or when he'd locked him in the lab to face the hound, and that last night in the moor when John had closed his eyes and killed the dog that plagued Henry's every waking moment with a single shot, relying totally on instinct. "That _was_ an impressive shot" Sherlock smirked across at him from his microscope. John barked out a laugh "At this stage Sherlock we could set up a psychic office on the side with the amount of times you just know what I'm thinking." Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to the slide before him, shaking his head ever so slightly "Wrong." and that was all he would say on the subject. "John?" John looked up from the medical journal he'd been feigning interest in "Sherlock?" "I need some. Get me some!" John snickered a bit at that and Sherlock looked baffled by his reaction. "Sorry Lock, bit of a double meaning in that. You know as well as I do that something will come up, whether it's private or with Lestrade is luck of the draw really, well, misfortune of the victim actually..." Sherlock sighed and stared blankly at the blood sample that seemed to stare back at him.

The experiment had concluded a week ago, but cases had been light on the ground the past month or so, The death of Sebastian Moran had left a power vacuum that had exposed many criminal strings in their own civil war to find a new king, but no one out there was anything like Moriarty, in fact the majority could not surpass even Moran's average intellect and that was a sad state of affairs indeed. They'd done his work for him. Dull. At least John too was feeling the strain of having little to actually do, the tension built up in his shoulders would tell nothing to anyone who didn't know John as he did. No one knew John like he did. That was a point of intense pride for him. The tension was mounting each day, and while there was some relief to be found at night (or whenever he felt they could both use a little break, which was more often than he'd like to admit. John never seemed to mind) there was a day coming soon that John would simply explode and Sherlock had no clue what that would entail. For once, however, he'd rather not know. "You need to get out John, you're tense beyond belief and while my...tactics... have been working rather well I am genuinely starting to fear for your health. Go out somewhere." Sherlock pressed, he remembered the John he'd first met, the nightmare riddled depressed military vet with the dead eyes. Never again would he allow that fate to befall his John, and that was seemingly where he was headed. John smiled weakly and looked pointedly at the garish smiley face that adorned their wall, or more specifically the rows of bullet holes that surrounded it. "I think we're both going a bit stir crazy, and I love you, but if you screech your way through another Vivaldi I swear the wall won't be the only thing that has bullet holes in this apartment" He joked lightly and sighed "I have an idea. I'll go out with Greg tonight if he's free, maybe Mike or something if he's not, and you get out to Bart's and do some very disgusting experiments that I will take great pleasure in hearing all about them in the morning. Sound good?" Sherlock's honest smile brightened his face considerably at that and he rushed across the room, planting a sloppy kiss on John's forehead. "For an idiot you are remarkably intelligent John" he murmured and they laughed together, the pleasant musicality of it warming the room substantially, floating down to Mrs Hudson in her living room, making her smile.

Greg was mercifully available, and if he didn't believe before now John was certain that there was a God out there who was perpetually looking down on him. The pub was relatively busy for a Thursday night, being the halfway point between 221 and the Yard made it a frequent stop when John and Greg went out together. The low hum of voices rumbled softly and unobtrusively in the background as he sat at the bar and ordered two pints, waiting for Lestrade who was frequently late for these get togethers. Not that John had an issue with that, on the contrary. Usually this alone time was spent trying to think of things to talk about that didn't involve either of their partners. Not an easy task at all he was slightly embarrassed to admit. Greg trundled in with a weary grin on his face a little while later and John realised with a jolt that they hadn't had a proper non case related chat since... God since before the Moran situation. "Sorry mate, you know how it is" Greg smiled as he sat down and picked up his glass "Ta for this by the way, been so swamped lately I haven't been able to breathe let alone go for a pint. We'd an inspection there last week and I swear to whatever's out there if I have to redo one more bit of shoddy paperwork I'll arrest myself when I murder the rest of them." John laughed heartily and realised how much he had missed this, talking to someone who wasn't five steps ahead all the time, who liked pints and footie and a chat about something other than corpses and other typical case related issues. Still in the back of his mind he was wondering what Sherlock was up to, missing him even though they'd been at each other all day everyday for weeks. God he was getting needy... He shoved those thoughts deep into the recesses of his mind and settled into his stool. "I wouldn't blame you, plus Sherlock would get a real kick out of that. He might even send you flowers for it" John laughed and Greg smiled brightly.

"So how have you been mate? It's been far too long." John half smiled at the dark look that passed over his face, that next to last meeting had been rather unpleasant... "I've been worse, far worse. I never had the chance to thank you for that by the way. So thank you and sorry for er... how you found out about" he held up his hand, ring glinting in the low light. Greg nodded his acknowledgment of John's thanks, and smirked at the ring. "You know part of me can't believe that _Sherlock Holmes_ is engaged, but the other part of me is completely unsurprised by the manner he chose to let us know. I don't think I've ever seen Anderson look so horrified and he works on brutal murders... You'll be happy to hear that when he was being a bollocks about the whole thing I didn't even have to step in because someone else already had." John started at that. "What really? Who?" Greg's grin grew until it looked as though his entire face was made of smile "Sally Donovan. No joke! She boxed him in the face when he said... Well it doesn't really matter what he said. Yeah, in front of everyone she basically defended the both of you and broke it off with him. I quote "Just because he's a freak doesn't mean you or I, or any of us for that matter, have the right to mock his happiness. John Watson is a saint and not only is he the best thing to happen to Sherlock he's also the best thing to happen to this department! I don't know if you've noticed Anderson but our jobs have gotten a thousand times easier and the longer he stays the easier they get. So you can take your hypocritical bigotry elsewhere you complete arse!" By the end John's jaw was resting somewhere on the floor. Sally Donovan. "Jesus... That's not who I'd have expected at all... Maybe I'll get him to send her flowers!" Lestrade sipped the dregs of his pint and ordered two more, and they continued to chat and drink together.

"Congrats John. Honestly I think you've made him the happiest he's been in his entire life, you don't even see it! God, you brought the good man out of the great one and proved that he was in there all along without even trying! Do you know how amazing that is? I mean, sure I put him in rehab that last time but it was the work that made him get clean, Mycroft always tries his best to keep him safe and take care of him, Mrs Hudson and Molly will do just about anything for the man but not once did any of us see him actually smile, I mean not at the thought of a case or the condescending smirk, I mean smile. You're a bit of a miracle John Watson, no doubt about it." Greg was halfway through his fourth pint at this stage and John was only on his second, so his blushes at that were luckily not going to be remembered by the DI in the morning. "We're miracles unto each other. Mightn't have been here at all if it weren't for meeting him" he smiled softly. They had managed to get through almost everything that had occurred in the couple's life so far including meeting Harry. "Enough about me and Sherlock, what about you and Mycroft? Last I heard you two were having a domestic" Greg scoffed "A domestic? Mrs Hudson says the strangest things... We're great I think. I mean, not to sound sappy but I think I love the man - don't tell anyone that because he doesn't know yet. He's exactly what I need in a relationship, mostly. His self esteem issues are... Probably worse than anyone I've ever met which is odd for someone who is as influential and he's so confident all the time until he's not... It's an oxymoron. He's an oxymoron. He's in... Vienna? I think it's Vienna at the moment for work so I know he's not listening in. But just in case... Lu, don't let him see this cuz I wanna tell him. If he leaves or whatever I'd like to be able to see him go." John was very confused at that. "Why would he leave?" Greg snorted bitterly "Our domestic as you labelled it would be about his inability to a) articulate his own feelings and b) his disbelief and refusal to accept my feelings for him. He's got a massive fear of commitment and I think I would be the first person to tell him that they love him and mean it. God help me I do though John. I love him." Patting his back softly John muttered his reassurances quietly while calling a taxi for them both. "C'mon mate you can stay at 221 tonight, don't think having you alone in Mycroft's is the best idea tonight." He had a missed call from an unknown number but shrugged it off, probably unimportant. John supported Greg into the car and gave the address, sending Sherlock a quick text as they drove off.

**On way home, Greg's coming too, don't ask -J **

**I'm also on my way back, probably best if you maneuver him into your old room my clothes are a bit bloody and his stomach will be unsure as it is. - SH**

**Right ho Sherlock. Oh! I got a missed call from an unknown number, any idea who it could be? - J **

**Eight. - SH **

**See you soon love, I'll be expecting some very impressive deductions -J **

**You're always impressed by my deductions -SH **

**Not always -J **

**Wrong -SH**

**Fine always you git -J **

Sherlock smirked and tucked his phone away, striding down an alley lightly splattered in blood. No cabs would take him, but they would be the ones to benefit from his work on blood spatter on clothing should they be murdered. He'd spent hours working on the fresh cadavers with various weapons. He did regret not bringing John's gun as that was a distinct hole in his data however he would rectify that at the nearest opportunity. He had missed his blogger while he worked in relative silence, rather as silence as it could be when Molly was chattering aimlessly at him. He was however feeling distinctly better for the excursion, the walls of the flat had been closing in on him slowly as the caseless period lasted longer and longer. He'd give out to Lestrade for it but in all fairness he'd been updating him on all cases that were ongoing, they just weren't worth the time it took to read about them. Plus Lestrade was actually not awful to have around, and had his uses after all he'd been rather useful in retrieving John all those months ago. Sherlock would forever be in his debt for helping save John's life. He hated being indebted to someone but for this, he would make an exception. He liked to feel the fluid waves of his ring when thinking about that night, so many variables could have made it so he never had the chance to ask, to show that he loved him.

John dragged Greg up to his old bed and dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed, returning to place paracetamol and a glass of water on the side table by the sleeping man. Chuckling at the drool dribbling slowly from the corner of his mouth John snapped a photo and sent it to Sherlock before trudging back to his armchair. He'd not had the chance yet to update his blog and inform the masses that they were engaged and though he was slightly on the wrong side of sober he opened his laptop and began.

**In case you were wondering**

It's been quite a while since I posted, but you remember that I had a run in with an old acquaintance that was... Not exactly pleasant and since then we've not had any proper cases to write home about. There is, however, a rather good reason for my writing this that most of you will find unsurprising or at least I don't think you will be shocked. Surprise! I've been dating Sherlock for almost a year now, right after that Moriarty business we got together and in truth it feels as if we've always been this way, even though we haven't. A part of me was shocked that he even had those feelings, but I have it on good authority that it's just me (quite flattering that).

All the speculation about us should probably have tipped me off, he never denied it when people said we were together, but I assumed it was a Sherlock thing. He's my best friend and as of a few months back, my fiancé. That's right folks, Sherlock proposed. Rather we both proposed simultaneously, long story. Yes, we're set to tie the knot as it were in the spring and I honestly couldn't be happier. We're a matching set he once said, yes Sherlock I know it's not the same context but it works. We are a set, in our own odd way, but at least it's never normal. Normal is boring. He's currently on his way back from an experiment that has left him 'bloodied' in his own words. At least the head in the fridge is gone.

Until next time, Dr. John H. Watson

Just as he pressed send the door clattered open and Sherlock strolled in. "Well that was tedious." he smirked and John stifled a laugh and turned on the kettle. The rumble of Sherlock's voice explaining his experiment ("of course I've done this sort of thing before but _fresh cadavers_ John!") and the soft whir of steam brought a smile to John's face. "Come on, it's late and I don't know about you but I'm pretty tired." John picked up their mugs and carried them to the bedroom, Sherlock trailing after him grumbling about the fact that he'd slept more in the past three months than he had in years.

John stripped off and waited for Sherlock to finish his rumblings before giggling. Sherlock, bemused by the reaction, looked up. "Oh." His eyes widened considerably as he stared at John. "They're red. _Very_ red." John grin cheekily "The only words the great Sherlock Holmes could think of to describe my red boxers are oh and very red?" Sherlock stalked across the room to him and stroked one finger across the leg of them "_Why_, may I ask have I not seen these before?" John leaned in to his hear, breath warm against his ear, raising goosebumps. "There's a lot you haven't seen Sherlock, but you will. You like them I take it?" John murmured, deftly unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock gulped and nodded, never taking his eyes of the smooth scarlet silk hugging John. "Just you wait." John growled and slid his tongue along the shell of Sherlock's ear "_These_ are to say thank you for understanding me so beautifully" He smirked while Sherlock shivered "and_ this_ is to say that I love you" and he pushed Sherlock back onto the bed. It was a great deal of luck that ensured Greg Lestrade never heard a peep, though the neighbours had banged on the wall repeatedly, the cadence of Sherlock's moans and shouts just didn't reach the upstairs room, and if they had, he was dead to the world anyway.

A long note of violin woke John from his sleep, and he was about to shout that Sherlock should be more considerate to Greg, even if he was playing John's favourite of his compositions so far, but he felt a curly head on his chest before he opened his eyes. Phone. He scrambled to pick it up and held the machine to his ear, answering with a croaked hello. "John?" a woman's voice asked softly. "Eh... Clara? What's... What's going on?" John yawned blearily, sitting up a bit and looking at the clock. 5am. "John I tried to call you earlier but you didn't answer me and I don't think we have the time to talk properly" she blurted frantically "Calm down Clara just tell me what you need." John switched instantly to doctor mode as Sherlock opened an eye. "It's... God I can't believe she didn't tell you! Harry. She's... She's got cervical cancer John. They're in surgery performing a histerectomy as we speak but she wants, I know she wants, to save her eggs because she was going to offer them to you and Sherlock if you guys wanted kids and I think that you do and that way they'd be both of yours because they'd have your genes too John. They'll have a longer storage life if..." The only other person John had herd speak that quickly was Sherlock and it was thanks to that he was able to hear everything Clara was saying. "What's going on John?" Sherlock asked with a stretch. "You want Sherlock to fertilise them don't you?" he asked and Sherlock sat bolt upright and stared at John, deducing the entire conversation from his face. "I know it's crazy John believe me I know but she wants you to have them... She went to the doctor just after she met up with you and Sherlock and they told her... She's in surgery now so I can tell you but she was adamant that I didn't let you know... I'm sorry John but you need to make the decision now." John was in a stunned silence and looked over to Sherlock, eyes so lost and helpless that Sherlock wanted to strangle Harry for leaving him in the dark until the last moment.

However terrible the situation, it did give a unique opportunity in that they could both be the biological parents of a child, kind of, if he agreed to do this. Hadn't they just spoken about all of this a few months ago? "You'll be a great father Sherlock, when the time comes you'll be great. I'll be right there with you and we'll raise them together." John had said. "John?" he asked timidly, unsure of himself yet again, but he put all that he wanted to say into the name, how he was terrified that this was a bad decision, his self hatred for even thinking about children at all, his confusion at the logistics of this, his patience that they didn't have to use them yet, and finally his resolve, his want and his hope that John wanted too. "Sherlock?" John breathed as he took the phone from John's grasp. "We'll be there in half an hour Clara. It will be nice to meet you." Sherlock hung up and slid out if bed, pulling on his clothes as he went. John was still staring at him in awe. "Come along John, you need to visit Harry and I apparently have an appointment with some very irritating lab rats." John shook his head and began to dress "We're really doing this aren't we? You know what Sherlock?" John asked as he tugged his jumper over his head and walked over to Sherlock in the bathroom. "Most likely but do tell" he responded with a smirk and John batted his arm. "You're bloody brilliant and I'm bloody lucky" Sherlock turned and gathered John into his arms, planting a soft kiss in his hair. He was scared for Harry, and for Sherlock doing this, but he wanted it too. "We both are love, we both are."

**A/N I was going to wait another chapter to do that but then I thought why not just fast forward a few months and do it now? So I did! I did say Harry would be of some importance and while it may seem a bit ooc for her really she does love John and wants him to be happy. Mystrade is cute ok? Deal with it! Also red pants Monday was calling my name...It's been hectic for me, back to school, getting the results of those exams I took in June, I'm part of yearbook photography this year and I'm just busy! I'll still update this because I love it and it's become my baby but if they're super sporadic I do apologise I've just got a lot on my plate. Anyway aside from that thanks for reading and responding as always, love hearing from you! If you're reading this (just so I know) it'd be cool if you put the word Umbrella in your review! Ciao for now -S**


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